Outlanders
by shadesunrider13
Summary: Cato slams me back against the Cornucopia, pinning me with an arm across my throat. I stare directly into his eyes. If he's going to kill me, he'd better make it fast. There's a dead man waiting for me on the other side. Cato/OC AU
1. Don't Fear the Reapers

All right, if you're reading this, I thank you for making your way past the vague summary and into the story. This is an AU Cato/OC story, and the rest will become clear if you read on. If anything is confusing, please feel free to review or PM me and I will make any necessary changes.

Thank you and hopefully happy reading!

* * *

It's too hot here. The heat presses down on me and beads of sweat dot my forehead. They taught me everything I could conceivably need in preparation for this moment - axe-handling, eating with utensils, the proper accent for a girl from District Seven. But they couldn't teach me how to handle this heat.

I'm used to it always being cold, so you'd think I'd welcome the warmth. Instead I hate it. It's a nasty business, getting what you want.

Around me, a group of eighteen-year-olds shift nervously back and forth, whispering amongst themselves, some of them praying, even though everything I know about Panem says that they have no religion. I guess people will do just about anything when they're truly terrified.

_Come on, get on with it_, I silently beg the Capitol presenter. _Just call my name and end the suspense for everyone else_.

The presenter is a tall, rail-thin woman who's entire body is a shocking shade of silver. Not surprisingly, her name is Maia Silverstone, and she's rambling on like she's got all day to talk. Finally, she seems to finish her speech about what an honor it is to be here - and either she's a good actress or she actually means it - and steps toward the reaping balls.

_Hey_, Lief says to me. _I bet all that silver's only paint_.

_Nah, it's real_, I disagree. _This is Panem, after all. Bet you I'm right_.

_Bet you a dollar you're wrong_, Lief says.

_You're on_.

"Boys or girls? Who wants to go first?" Maia chirps.

Dead silence. "The girls!" I shout. Please, let's get this over with before I melt into a puddle of District Seven accent and stupid clothes.

The girls around me glare. "I hope you get chosen," one hisses at me."

"Thanks. Me, too," I say. Her glare loses its malice and becomes full-on confused. I realize that I'm made possibly a major slip, but what the hell? I'm going into the arena, and by the time this whole thing is over, she won't even remember our little conversation.

She'll have bigger things to worry about.

Maia Silverstone reaches into the glass reaping ball. Agents placed in District Seven by my people have replaced almost all the slips of paper with ones bearing my name, and if that should fail, I'll volunteer. For sure nobody will try and volunteer before I do.

Lief calls out to me with his mind from the boys' section. _Fingers crossed, Spirit_.

_Shut up_, I tell him. _You'll jinx me_.

Maia Silverstone pulls her hand out of the glass ball, a piece of paper clenched in her fist. She unfolds it and read into the microphone, static crackling. "The female tribute from District Seven will be…"

She trails off, frowning, and for a second, I completely panic. What if they're onto us? What if the Peacekeepers are even now planning to arrest Lief and I, drag us up onto the stage and put bullets through our heads? And even if we aren't discovered, what if the arena proves to be too much for us? There are people going in who have trained their whole lives for this moment.

Maia gives herself a little shake and starts over. "The female tribute from District Seven will be Spirit Emerson."

Confusion ripples through the crowd of girls. I can almost see the way their thoughts run. _Who is this Spirit person?_ And then - _who cares? She's not me. That's all that matters_.

"Spirit Emerson?" Maia repeats. "Come forward, please."

I take a deep breath. This is it. The hopes of my people and the memories of everyone who died at Panem's hand rest with me, and suddenly, I'm nervous that, despite all my training, despite my advance knowledge of how these Games will play out, I'm unready.

Too late to back out now. The Peacekeepers are already converging on the girls' section, searching for the wayward female who's taking too long to make an appearance. I compose myself, turn my facial features into a smooth, inscrutable mask, and step forward.

"I'm Spirit Emerson," I say. The Peacekeepers close ranks around me - as if I'd run - and march me to the stage. I climb the steps and take my place beside Maia Silverstone.

"How old are you, Spirit?" she twitters.

"Eighteen."

"Would you like to say hello to your family now?" Maia says. One reason why we chose District Seven to infiltrate is because Maia tends to ask the chosen tribute some basic questions about him or herself before moving on, and we need to start circulating our cover story as soon as possible.

"I don't have family," I say, slipping into the district accent and the lie. "I'm a street rat, ma'am."

There's an audible sigh of relief from the crowd. Another reason why we picked District Seven as the infiltration point is because it has a large concentration of orphan children living in its streets. Since District Seven's principle industry is logging and they're using primitive tools such as axes, there are a lot of fatal accidents, and consequently, a lot of kids growing up with no one to care for them and no place to live. No one pays attention to the street rats, no one keeps tabs on them, so being a street rat is the ideal cover. No one knew I was here and no one will care that I'm gone. In fact, they'll probably view it as pest control.

"Now for the boys," Maia says. In the crowd, Lief flashes me a thumbs-up. Maia makes a big show of poking through the boys' reaping ball, really milking the moment, and I see Lief roll his eyes.

_Good luck_, I say.

_You'll jinx me_.

"The male tribute from District Seven will be Lief Holbrook," Maia says, and Lief lets out a whoop of delight. He charges out of the crowd, bounds up the steps, and grabs Maia's hand, giving it a hearty shake. Then he turns to me and gives me a hug. Lief appears to be totally thrilled at being chosen - and also totally stupid. That's his strategy.

As he hugs me, he whispers in my ear, "I got silver paint all over my hand. You owe me a dollar."

I roll my eyes and take a languid step away from him - part of my strategy. Knowing Lief, he won't drop it. Where the hell am I going to get a dollar? And then I smile, because all I have to do to get more money than I've ever seen is to win the Games.

"It's wonderful to see a tribute who's so, ah, effervescent," Maia says, a little thrown off by Lief's behavior. "Do you have family, Mr. Holbrook?"

Lief grins broadly. "No. I'm a street rat, too."

The people of District Seven must be overjoyed. Rather than having to hand over two of their precious children, they get to pass two street rats off as tributes on the Capitol. It's probably their best reaping yet.

* * *

Questions, comments, criticism? Review or PM and tell me what you think!


	2. Chosen

**Hello out there. Thank you to MissLunaRiddle for adding me to story alert. I was very happy to see it. I decided part of my problem - the problem being that I have no reviews - is that my summary wasn't too good, so I've updated it a bit. In this chapter you'll start seeing characters you know from the books. Feel free to let me know what you think or even if I should continue this story. I definitely enjoy writing it. Hopefully you'll enjoy reading it!**

**All right, I'm done. On with the story.**

* * *

By virtue of being street rats, Lief and I are allowed to skip the stopover at the Justice Building and get right on the train to the Capitol. Maia follows us as we wander up and down the train, yammering about what a pleasant district we come from and how unbelievably hot out it was today. "I just love summer," she says, "but that was a bit excessive, wouldn't you say, Spirit?"

"I'll say," an unfamiliar voice interrupts. "But I think somebody's full of hot air."

Maia's face creases into a frown, as though she's just smelled something awful, and she turns around. "Johanna. How…nice…to see you."

"Right back at you," Johanna says. She squints at us around the considerable bustle on Maia's dress. "So, you guys the street rats?"

"Yeah," Lief says.

Johanna snorts. "Well if I were you, I wouldn't waste my time trying to train or win sponsors. I know I won't waste time helping you. You're both going to die straight off."

"Johanna!" Maia exclaims. "That's a terrible thing to say! Of course," she says, turning to reassure us, "we'll all be working very hard to give you the best chances in the Games."

"Don't count on it," Johanna says, heading down the hall.

"Where's Blight?" Maia asks her. The only answer she gets is a shrug as Johanna disappears into her room.

Maia turns back to us. "Oh, Spirit, Lief, don't listen to her -"

That's it for me. I give everyone still present a long stare and then retreat into the room Maia told me was mine earlier. I don't come out till dinner.

Dinner ends up being pretty quiet, since Maia is off yelling at our mentors, and I spend most of it hunched over the table, filling up sheet after sheet of paper with everything I can remember from Abbess's explanation of how these Games will unfold. I pick my brain for every detail, because I never know what detail will save my life, or Lief's. Lief is no help; he spent most of the lessons about these Games fast asleep, counting on me to pay attention for him. I bet he's regretting that now.

"Quit staring at me," I say after an hour or two. "It's not my fault you didn't memorize it."

He ignores the comment. "Do you think we'll survive?"

"Well," I say. "Yeah."

"Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark are going to win!" Lief says. He's starting to work himself up into a real panic - calmness under fire has never really been his specialty. "It doesn't matter what we do. We'll die no matter what!"

"No," I say. "The kids who went in for District Seven in the vision aren't going in. We are. That changes things - you know, like in the story about the space travelers. An alternate reality."

Lief nods, but he looks scared.

"And anyway, Lief, we can do this," I tell him. "We're northerners. The Hunger Games lasts for a couple weeks; and our whole lives have been like the Hunger Games. Our whole lives, Lief. We've survived worse things than this. If we can stop the muttations and the Peacekeepers from destroying us, we can both get out of the arena alive."

I don't say Valentine's name, even though the attack would have been nothing without him and his treason. I can't talk about it yet. Maybe not ever.

Lief nods again. "I don't think they would have let you go in if they didn't think you could handle it."

"You can handle it, too," I say, noticing how he said 'you' instead of 'us'. "We'll be okay."

Our mentors come back in. They've mostly left us alone; I think Lief's mentor, Blight, is a morphling addict, or at least on his way there. Johanna, my mentor, has been off doing god knows what, and frankly, I haven't missed her.

"What's up, loveless?" she greets me.

"The ceiling, you old bag," I respond, and Johanna grins. What I remember about Johanna from the stolen Games tape I studied is that she won by pretending that she was a weakling until the field had shrunk to a handful of tributes - at which point she demonstrated that she was a ruthless killer, murdering all the remaining tributes in the space of a few hours. It worked for her, but I don't think I can go that way.

"I like you, loveless," she comments. "You might actually have a chance."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I say. "So what are we looking at with the reaping this year?"

I already know, of course, but I can't let on.

Blight yawns. "Well, as always, One and Two are looking good. I don't think Four will be Careers this year - they're both pretty young. There's a guy from Eleven you should worry about, and a girl from Twelve actually volunteered to save her sister. But she doesn't look like much."

"Who wants to watch the recap?" Johanna flops languidly out on the couch and turns on the television. Lief and Blight both turn toward the screen, but I turn back around and keep scribbling on the page. I write down names; Glimmer, Marvel, Clove, Cato, Thresh. My enemies. If I'm going to get myself and Lief out of the arena, I'm going to have to eliminate most or all of them.

As they announce the tributes from District Two, I hear Lief gasp. Then he says, "Turn it off. Now."

There's a scuffle over the remote; the television gets louder and then dramatically softer as someone sits on the remote. After about a minute, Lief emerges victorious, and he turns off the television.

"Brat," Johanna says. "I was watching.

Lief glares at her, holding the remote aloft like a trophy. "It's staying off until they're done with District Two," he says. "Then by all means, watch until your brain explodes."

Blight sits up, squinting at Lief. "What's your issue with District Two?"

"None of your business," Lief responds. I turn around to stare at him. He's rarely this confrontational over anything.

"What the hell is going on?" I say.

"Nothing," Lief says. "Go back to what you're doing."

He turns the television on again, revealing the selection of the tributes from District Three. I still don't know what he was having such a fit about. It's probably just that he wants to be in control of the television; we don't have them back home, and to him, it's a shiny new toy. Whatever it was, it's over now, and some manner of harmony has been restored.

That harmony is wrecked once again when Maia Silverstone arrives. "Lief, Sydney -"

"It's Spirit," I say, turning around. "What do you want?"

"I was going to ask you what your strategies were," Maia says, taken aback.

"Strategies?" I say blankly. "My mentor still hasn't figured out what my name is. How are we supposed to have a strategy already?"

"Brilliant, loveless," Johanna says with a snort.

"This is my life here, old bag," I snap back. "I kind of care about it."

"All right, loveless," Johanna says. She gets up off the couch, walks over to me, grabs my arm, and pulls me out of my chair. "Come on. Let's go - strategize."

I panic, trying to gather up the papers. That's prophetic stuff just lying around on the table. Then I remember that my handwriting is terrible, and anyway, why would anyone look at the scribbles of a tribute who they think will be dead in a few days?

"So, loveless," Johanna says once we're in the next room, "what's so special about you?"

Time to make myself sound good. If I want to impress my mentor, I'm going to have to sell it. "Well, I'm strong," I say. "I can run -"

"That won't be any use against the Careers unless you're really fast," Johanna says. "Are you?"

I start to explain about all my practical experience with running like hell away from things that want to kill me, but I'm cut off when Johanna unexpectedly pokes me in the stomach. "What the hell?"

"Not bad. You've got some muscles," Johanna says. She prods at my legs, my arms, and my shoulders.

"All right, are you done, or do you want to test my reflexes first?" I snap.

"You use axes," Johanna states. "Either axes or hammers."

"No hammers, but definitely axes," I say. "How'd you know?"

"It was easy," Johanna says. But of course she doesn't explain how she did it. "So you're good with axes. Anything else?"

"I can do hand-to-hand combat," I offer. "And I can climb."

"Of course you can climb, you're from District Seven," Johanna says. "And hand-to-hand doesn't matter unless you're good."

"Uh-huh."

"_Really _good," Johanna says, as though I haven't gotten the message.

"I get it," I say. It's like she doesn't believe I can do any of this. Does she have any idea what I've been through in my life? It was practically one Hunger Games after another, and there is no way I'm going to let her push me around. "Don't worry; you'll see it in my training score. And by the way, don't call Lief a brat again. Insulting him is my job."

On that note, I go back into the main room, grab my papers, and retreat into the bedroom for a good night's sleep. Unfortunately, I get absorbed in studying my hands. The nails are clipped short for convenience. My fingers are long and thin, and my knuckles are patterned with irregular scars. On the middle finger of my left hand is a silver ring with a black stone. On my right ring finger is a gold ring with a sunstone surrounded by diamonds, a gift passed down through three generations, from some ancestor brave enough to save her own life.

I wonder if they'll let me wear them into the arena.

When I fall asleep, I find my dreams haunted. Valentine - Valentine who I loved, Valentine who betrayed our people - walks through them, trailing his claws and ripping holes in the air, setting fires, casting bombs. I find myself running through the fight that ended in his death, reliving it a couple times, as though my subconscious is trying to convince me that he is in fact dead. See my fingers grow into claws that crush his skull, tell myself the same thing over and over again. It's over. I made it over.

I open my eyes, out of the memories, and there's light outside the window. It's morning. And someone is sitting on the edge of my bed. Valentine. It's Valentine.

"You belong to me," he says quietly, and I wake up screaming.


	3. Welcome to Paradise

A/N: Hello, everyone. I've decided to continue posting this story. Thank you to Choco3Symphony, Nelle07, purplerainrose, and bigtimecrazy123 for their kind reviews, and also thank you to the shockingly long list of people who added me to alerts and favorites. I hope this new chapter is up to all of your standards!

* * *

When we pull into the train station, Blight is still asleep, but Johanna is awake. She gives us a running commentary on what we're seeing at the train station, which Lief and I find to be both amusing and horrifying.

"See, over there are people who are into body mods," she says, pointing to a woman whose face is implanted with gems. "Freaky, huh? And over there are piercers. They pierce everything, and I mean everything. And there you've just got your average Capitol weirdoes - and hey, TV cameras! Smile!"

Lief smiles his awkward smile, and I do an anemic wave. The crowd gathered cheers anemically in response.

Johanna snickers. "District Seven is nothing special. We've had, what, four victors in seventy-four years? They'll be a lot happier when the Career trains pull in."

"Now what?" Lief says as Peacekeepers move the crowds back.

"Now you go get beautified," Johanna says. "The stylists are going to go wild over you two. Just to warn you; you'll be dressed as trees. All our tributes are."

"I like trees," I say obstinately. Living in the north makes you appreciate them.

"Whatever," Johanna says. "All I know is that from now until after the opening ceremonies, you two are someone else's problem. See you later, loveless."

And with that, my mentor abandons me to the evil machinations of the stylists and prep team.

"Hey," Lief says as they drag us off to separate rooms. "At least yours is actually awake."

"Good point."

After a few hours of getting hair stripped off of me, I'm starting to get annoyed. I've never been much for beauty regimens, and the backhanded compliments aren't helping the situation. Example: "You're so much cleaner than most of the tributes we've prepped; only a few layers of dirt!"

And of course, some of the comments aren't backhanded at all. They're totally straightforward.

"Spirit, what is _wrong_ with this haircut? It does nothing for you," the blonde woman says.

"Yeah, well, you know, where I come from, we don't worry about what our hair is doing for us," I say. True enough; for northern girls, the only options are dreadlocks or buzz cuts. I'm not a patient person, so I went for the buzz cut. It's grown out some by now, and instead of looking neat it looks shaggy. "Aside for, I mean, covering your head."

They all laugh hysterically at that. "All right," the blonde woman says. "Stand up; you're done. We'll call Elisheba into look at you now."

They survey me with a critical eye. "Uh-oh," the green-haired man says.

"What's uh-oh?" I say, imagining horrors - my eyebrows missing at the very least. "Did you wax something you weren't supposed to?"

"No, nothing like that," the green-haired man assures me. "It's just that we don't think you'll make a very good tree."

I resist the urge to say, _Well, duh_.

A woman with jet-black hair and a face powdered white steps into the room. I almost smile at the sight of her; she may look weird by Panem's standards, but to me, she looks normal. Like, bone white normal, but that's normal for my homeland. We're all unnaturally pale up north.

"Hello, Spirit," the woman says. "I'm Elisheba, your stylist."

She walks in a circle around me. "Oh, Marsyas, I see what you mean. The tree costume won't happen with this one."

"Why, what's wrong with me?"

"You're a bit too curvy," the blonde says. "We'll have to put her and the boy in the backup costumes."

The backup costume turns out to be this dryad-looking getup, all brown silk and fake green ivy wrapped around my limbs. They make a crown of fake leaves and place it on my head. They paint my nails green and my lips golden and my eyelids bronze, lengthen my eyelashes until I can barely see past them. When I look in the mirror, I look like a forest spirit in the midst of summer.

Lief looks much the same, except with less makeup and no nail polish. "Why aren't we trees?"

"Don't tell me you're disappointed."

"No, I'm just wondering why," he says.

"My ass was too big."

"You look good," he tells me.

I shrug, making the fake ivy rustle. "You, too."

"Don't lie," he says. "I look like I got attacked by a Christmas tree."

"Maybe a little, but don't worry; once District Twelve comes out, no one will be looking at us."

This is true enough. People are interested in us in the beginning, and I hear them yelling our names. Mine especially. I wave and blow a kiss, trying not to fall out of the chariot. I clutch the side of it for support and hang on tight all the way into the City Circle. I would grab Lief's hand, except I'm still trying to decide whether or not I like him, and I don't want to send any sort of message. Also, I don't want to steal District Twelve's thunder; I want Lief and I attracting just enough attention that we're not forgotten, but I don't want us at the forefront of everyone's thoughts.

It's so strange to be in the Capitol, to have Capitol citizens cheering madly for me, when in a different setting, they would be trying to kill me. The real reason the Capitol hates the northerners isn't because they think we'll kill them all; it's because every northerner has some sort of mutation as a result of the nuclear bombs. And the Capitol is afraid of us.

They created their own creatures, muttations - they wouldn't even give their monsters the same name as we have - to hunt us down and kill us. But we survive still. I wonder if all those Capitol citizens would still be cheering for Lief and I if they knew that we were mutants, too. Shape-changers - and in Lief's case, a mind-reader as well - sent in to ensure their downfall.

We get into the Training Center, and as soon as we're off the chariots, Lief grabs my arm and pulls me into one of the elevators, punching the 'close doors' button before anyone else can get in, then the number seven. He's acting strange, possessive almost, but I can't analyze it. I can't worry about him right now.

On our floor, we're greeted by pandemonium. Elisheba and the prep teams are absolutely thrilled that the costumes went over so well; apparently they haven't ever gotten a reaction like that, so they don't care that District Twelve put everyone else to shame. Dinner is pretty much consumed by stylist talk as Elisheba starts planning the costumes for our interviews, and it's not until she leaves that it's quiet.

"So," Blight drawls. "That wasn't bad."

Neither Lief nor I answer. Johanna rolls her eyes. "Don't try to talk to them, Blight. They're too worried about staying _alive_."

"Let's talk about training," Lief suggests. "How should we deal with it?"

"Well, as a district, we generally fail," Johanna says. "And you two didn't make a big enough splash that people would want to make alliances with you. No way are you two getting into the Career pack, unless you're willing to really work it during training. What've you got?"

"Knives, axes, hand-to-hand combat, speed, climbing," Lief lists. "That's about all we can do. Not including our sparkling personalities."

Blight snorts. "My advice would be to learn some new skills and make some friends. Coming into it knowing how to fight is a plus, so show off a bit in training. Not too much, mind you; you want to keep at least one skill under wraps until your private sessions."

"You want us in with the Careers?" Lief says. "Two and One?"

"If you can," Johanna says, speaking up without insulting us for the first time. "You both kept it together when your names were called; loveless over there -" she jerks her thumb in my direction "- worked the crowd like a pro; and neither of you are small or weak enough to be overlooked. Unless you get in with them, they'll target you."

"I don't know if that'll work," Lief says. "I didn't like the look of the boy from Two."

"Well, he must have been one ugly son of a bitch if you turned off the television to get away from him," I comment. Lief shoots a weird look my way - half warning, half protective - and I ignore him, turning back to Johanna. "Okay. I'll try to get us in with the Careers. You know my skills; what should I be saving?"

"Put the climbing out there," Johanna suggests. "The hand-to-hand combat, too. But save the hammers and anything else you might have up your sleeve for your private sessions. I'm not going to be able to get you good sponsors without at least a decent training score."

I stare at her. This is the first time that the woman who's supposed to be my mentor has actually said she's going to help me. I study Johanna, and I realize that she's actually only about four or five years older than I am.

"Go get some sleep, loveless," she tells me. "Gotta be on your best behavior tomorrow."

Lief and I walk down the hall to our rooms, and once we've gone our separate ways, I call out to him with my mind and tell him my plan for getting both of us out of the arena alive. I mean, assuming that we don't have to shape-change and eat anyone. He doesn't like it, but he agrees. And no matter what I try, I can't get him to tell me what's wrong with the boy from District Two.

_You'll see tomorrow_, he says. _Go to sleep_.

My eyes fall shut, my last thought being that it's rather odd that someone who has broken every single one of my ribs at some point is the only person I let into my mind.


	4. All The Other Kids

A/N: Thank you to everyone who added me to various favorites and alert lists, and especially big thank yous to Zunzun14, PandaHeroIzy, purplerainrose, and Laurafxox, who in addition to reviewing added me to her community. I'll try to post a new chapter every week from now on. In this chapter you will begin to see more characters from the book, so I hope you enjoy it. And of course, feel free to drop me a line (e.g., review) if you have any questions, comments, or constructive criticisms.

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The next morning, Lief takes forever to get ready. He sleeps in, then spends half an hour poking at a bowl of oatmeal before pushing away from the table and declaring that he's not hungry. Ordinarily, I'd be really pissed at him, but I had an unusually good sleep last night. Valentine's ghost had the sense to stay out of my dreams, and consequently, I'm in a pretty good mood.

But when we finally get to the elevator and Lief presses four extra buttons in addition to the one for gym, I start to get annoyed. "Okay, what is wrong with you?"

"I'm nervous," he says. But he won't look me in the eye, and I'm certain that he's lying.

"Does this have to do with District Two again?" I demand as the elevator rockets up to the eleventh floor and opens onto empty rooms. "Because if it does, you really need to tell me about it now."

"It doesn't have to do with District Two so much," he says. "It's just that, uh, you might, um, see somebody you think you recognize down there."

"For heaven's sake, Lief, this is a different country!" I snap. "How the hell would I be able to recognize anybody from here?"

I think he's about to answer when the doors open onto the first floor and the tributes from District One climb in. I've gotten right into Lief's face in an attempt to force him to answer my question, and as a result, it looks like I'm about to make out with him.

"Oops," giggles the girl from District One. "Are we interrupting something?"

"No," I say, stepping back and discreetly taking a deep breath to regain my composure. "Just a disagreement."

"I'm trying to take care of you," Lief says angrily.

"Oh, and we all know how good you are at taking care of people," I fire back. It's an awfully cheap shot, considering that it's not Lief's fault that Valentine was stronger than him, but he's pushed me to the limit. "I don't need you or anyone else looking out for me."

The last part is a show for the District One tributes, who are studying us with interest. Lief and I are going into this as a team, but I can't let the others know it. We have to remain separate in everyone's eyes, and when I chance a look into his face, I can tell that he understands. _I'm sorry_, I mouth, and he nods.

_I'm sorry, too_.

We aren't quite the last ones down to the gym; District Twelve is even later, and the head trainer has already started her speech by the time they emerge from the elevators. During her spiel, I let my mind wander onto how I got from my home in the north to Panem and the Hunger Games.

Abbess had a vision about Panem, a few days after Valentine's death. She saw Panem falling to a girl on fire, a girl who would be competing in the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, and a new age of prosperity and peace dawning for the northerners.

But - and there's always a 'but' with Abbess and her visions - now that she knew about it, that future was unstable. She concluded that, to control it, someone needed to enter the Games to make sure everything proceeded as planned. This was a gift. We couldn't allow it to go to waste. I'd already done some minor infiltration into Panem, so I was an ideal choice. And everyone was sick of me moping around, sleepless eyes and scars, a living reminder of a person everyone would rather forget.

Then Abbess decided that I was too unstable to send in alone.

That's how Lief got pulled into it with me. They gave him a choice, but when the choice was either going with me or being left alone up there, he chose the former. I think it's mostly because he's a pariah back home; his failure to kill Valentine pretty much turned everyone against him. They feel sorry for me. Not for him.

I was happy that I wouldn't be alone, but it's not until now that it hits me that I'm going to have to bring four people out. Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. Somehow I must figure out a way for Lief and I to win and yet keep both tributes from District Twelve alive. If they die, then the course of events will be altered and Panem may never rebel - a catastrophe for my people. Four victors. Can it be done?

If it can, I'll do it. There's a way, but I have to make sure no one kills us first.

My eyes wander over the other tributes. My competition. As I'm scrutinizing Clove, the girl from District Two, Lief elbows me.

"What?"

"They have a climbing wall," he says, pointing. I look in the direction he's indicated and see a rock wall. A placard next to it explains that it can be adjusted for difficulty, although all tributes must begin on a 5.5 to get the trainer's approval to move on to harder walls. I grin. I can't wait to try it out.

"You may spend time at the individual stations at your own discretion," the head trainer says, "but you and your district partner will be paired with another district for the group sessions. The district pairings will remain the same for all the training days. The list will be posted shortly. Now you may go and begin your training. The lunch break will be in four hours. Go."

"Should we split up?" Lief asks me.

"Why not? We're not trying to present the couple image, so there wouldn't be a point," I say. "You go for the fire-starting station, I'll take edible plants."

I'm being charitable giving him fire-starting. Fire comes naturally to people like us. I hope at least a few of the Gamemakers are watching him; he's sure to be successful, and maybe they'll look at him with a little more favor then they give to the average non-Career tribute.

"All right, but before I do that I'll check the listing to see when we're scheduled for the group stations and who we're paired up with," Lief says.

"Sure, thanks. See you. Good luck." We separate; I head to the edible plants station and begin studying. After about an hour, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark come over. Katniss answers a question that I miss about a plant we don't have in the north, and she shoots a triumphant, almost superior look at me. I ignore her. My rule for plants is that if you don't recognize it, don't eat it, and there are plenty of these plants I can identify by sight. I studied these thoroughly before coming here.

After edible plants, I move on to spear-throwing. It's not hard, but I really have to check my strength to prevent the spear from going straight through the target dummies and into the far wall. Shape-changers are stronger than the average person - we have to be, in order for our bodies to handle the transition. I see the Gamemakers nodding after I make a particularly good throw, and I grin.

A commotion on the other side of the gym draws my attention. It's at the staff station. Someone has been knocked out. Whoever it is has sandy brown hair and is sprawled out flat on their back. _Don't be Lief. Please don't be Lief_…

It's Lief.

I shove through the crowd of laughing tributes - even the pathetic ones are happy to see that someone's doing worse than they are - and kneel down at his side. "Lief. Dammit. Get up."

His eyelids flicker. There's already a lump on the side of his head, and he brings a hand up to touch it. "Huh?"

"Get up," I repeat. I glance over and see that the District One tributes have stopped swinging axes and are laughing at him. "District One is looking at you like you're road kill. Get up, go do something you're good at, and, I don't know, be less of a fail!"

He sits up. "I'm not a fail."

"Yeah? Well right now, you look like one," I say. I need to be harsh with him, maybe a little harsher than I ordinarily would be, to cancel out the fact that I left my station to help him. "Come on, Lief. Go be impressive."

He rolls his eyes. "You're the impressive one. You always have been. Do you know what time it is?"

I tell him, and he swears. "We have to be at the climbing station now. With District Two."

"Ah," I say. Climbing, there's something I'm naturally good at. Time to show off for everyone. "Well, then, let's go."

I grab Lief's hand and drag him to his feet before setting off for the climbing station.

"Spirit, wait!" Lief yelps, but he's sidetracked when he trips over his own discarded staff, and I proceed apace to the climbing station. The girl from District Two is already hooked into the wall and making her slow and unsteady way up, so I get in line behind the boy from District Two.

Cato, that's his name. In Abbess's vision, he makes it all the way to the final battle only to be eaten alive by the pack of muttation tributes the Gamemakers set loose. Good thing, too, because it mean that I probably won't have to kill him. He's huge, probably six foot four, and practically made of muscle, and while I might be able to beat him in a fight, I wouldn't rate my chances.

Pounding feet herald Lief's arrival, and he skids to a stop beside me just as Cato turns around.

Blond hair, gray eyes, strong features. I know that face about as well as I know my own - I see it almost every night in my nightmares. Suddenly I'm certain that I'm looking straight into the eyes of the ghost who haunts my dreams. He's alive. He's come back for me.

"Valentine," I whisper.

Cato - _Valentine! _- raises his eyebrows. "Who?"

Lief, probably feeling like he has to cover up my Freudian slip, chooses this moment to step forward and loudly introduce himself. "I'm Lief. District Seven."

"Cato. District Two," says the ghost. He looks at me. "And you are?"

When I don't answer, Lief elbows me. _Say something, dammit_.

"Spirit. Also District Seven," I manage, aiming my gaze at the ground between my feet. Even though I can't see him, I know Cato's eyes are on me, and I feel a blush rising over my cheekbones. A thousand thoughts are running through my head.

_I killed you._

_ You shouldn't be here_.

_Why won't you ever die?_

And by far the worst - _I missed you_.

"So," Cato says. "Who's Valentine?"

"Nobody." It feels particularly treasonous to deny that Valentine ever existed when his doppelganger is standing right in front of me.

"It's an inside joke," Lief explains. "District Seven thing. So, anyway, how's it going?"

I stomp on Lief's foot. _You're being an idiot!_

_You're frantically trying to figure out how Valentine managed to come back from the dead_, Lief snaps. _And I'm the idiot?_

I ignore him and decide just to shut up. Cato crosses his arms, showing off some impressive muscles. "District Seven," he says. "Saw you in the chariot rides. You were the best thing there."

I'm sticking to my resolution not to say anything until Lief elbows me again, this time stomping on my foot for good measure. _He's complimenting you. Say something!_

_Me? _I say stupidly.

_He's saying that _somebody _looked hot during the chariot rides_, Lief says, sounding really ticked off at this point. _And it sure wasn't me, so say thank you. Come on. We need to be on good terms with this guy!_

"Thanks," I manage to force out. "It's actually a minor miracle, considering that I was this close to being a tree."

"I don't think trees would suit you very well," Cato comments. "Was that you who got knocked out a couple minutes ago?"

"No," I say, a bit scornfully. I point at Lief. "That was him."

"The trainer tripped me!" he protests. Cato laughs.

"They're going to do a lot worse in the arena, District Seven," he says to Lief.

A shriek cuts the air as the girl from District Two plummets off the wall. The rope jerks her to a stop about halfway down, and she hangs there, squealing like a pig.

"That's Clove," Cato says. "She's from my district."

"She's an awful climber," I say.

"What would you know about it?" Cato snaps. Oops. I woke up the "district pride" bear.

"We climb a lot in District Seven," I explain. "Trees, you know, and if you're going to chop off a branch, you sure can't do it from ground level. So I would know something about it."

I've managed to bring things back down a bit, but Cato is still on the defensive. "If you're so good at climbing, how about you go next?"

"Ooh, them's fighting words," Lief mumbles.

Challenge accepted. "Fine," I say. I wait for the trainer to untie Clove, then go into battle.

"I can tie myself in," I tell the trainer, and proceed to hook myself in with a double fisherman, plus a safety. I'm not going to fall, but I want to show the Gamemakers that I'm the kind of girl who always has a backup plan. Then, to the tune of several dropped jaws, I clamber up the 5.5 in thirty-eight seconds; a personal best, and enough to get all the of the Gamemakers looking in my direction.

Then I climb back down rather than letting the trainer lower me. I can't help showing off a little.

"Can I go again?" I ask the trainer.

The trainer is still staring at me. "Have you had practice at climbing? Where did you get it?"

"District Seven," Cato, Lief, and I say at the same time. I turn around and glare at them. Lief becomes absorbed in the ceiling. "So, yeah, I've had some practice."

"What would you like to climb next?"

I smirk. "Challenge me."

When I tackle the overhang wall he sets, I draw quite a crowd of tributes and trainers. Even the Gamemakers have come down to the lowest row of the bleachers to watch me. And when I hook my hands over the top of the wall, some of them actually clap.

Lief is grinning like a fool. Since he's privy to what everyone around him is thinking, he can tell that I've made a huge impression. The girl from District Two is staring at me like I'm from another world. Cato looks me up and down, arms still crossed, his face expressionless. Then he nods, once. "Not bad, District Seven."

After the climbing lesson, we all break for lunch. The Career tributes - Cato included - form a rowdy group at one table, while everyone else separates out into little groups or sits alone. Lief and I sit together. We decide that it's okay for today. A lot of tributes are nervous to be alone.

"He likes you," Lief says almost as soon as we sit down. "Cato, I mean."

"What do you mean, he likes me?" I say, dreading his answer. He can't mean what I think he means. He just can't.

"He likes you," Lief repeats. "It's pretty self-explanatory."

_He likes you_.

No. I'm done! I've already been through this once with Valentine - I'm not doing it again, this time against the backdrop of the Hunger Games. I won't talk to Cato. I won't even look at him. I won't start caring about someone who has to die.

Lief, damn him, is thrilled. "This is great. Do you realize what this means? He likes you. That means he'll want you in the Career pack. This is our way in!"

"And then what?" I'm too bone-weary to even snap at him properly.

"Then we win," Lief says, as though explaining something very simple to a small child. "When us and District Twelve are the last ones left, we use the strategy and get the hell out of the arena with them. Mission accomplished."

"Forgetting, of course, that we have to kill twenty people to achieve the goal of being the last four left," I point out.

"We won't have to kill all twenty on our own," Lief says. "Your friend from District Two will probably take care of a lot of it before we get rid of him. And anyway, you've been killing people since you were thirteen. Why is this such a big deal?"

There are so many things wrong with that statement that I can't decide which one to get mad about first. What I end up saying - after I decide that I can just be angry about the whole thing - is, "This is different."

"Why? Because it's Valentine?"

_Yes_.

"No, because Cato isn't our enemy!"

"Everybody between us and completing our mission is our enemy. Everyone who poses a threat to us or District Twelve," Lief says coldly. "And Spirit, you actually made my point there. It's not Valentine. It's Cato. They might look the same, but they aren't the same person."

"He could be a mutant -" I'm grasping at straws. I know it and so does Lief.

"There are no shape-changers in this country," Lief says patiently. "Remember, it was the radiation from the bombs that tripped the mutation. You know that."

"So what do you want me to do?" I challenge. "Manipulate him, use him until we hit final five and then kill him?"

Lief studies me. "What's his name again?"

You're kidding me. "Cato."

"What happens to Cato in the vision?" Lief asks.

"He survives until the last fight," I say. "Him and Peeta and Katniss are the final three. Then the Capitol sets these muttations on them and they eat Cato alive."

"So he dies anyway," Lief rationalizes. "The muttations kill him. You won't have to. And you don't even have to talk to Valentine - er, Cato. All you have to do is be your regular incredible self and he'll be hooked."

"I'm not a drug, Lief," I say tartly.

He rolls his eyes, then looks at me expectantly. "So. Will you do it?"

What answer can I give? "Yes," I say. "But I hate it and I hate that you're making me do it. I just want you to know that."

"Point taken," Lief says. We eat in silence for a bit, Lief quietly devouring his bowl of stew while I shred a roll, pretending that it's his face. Then Lief says, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry about what?"

"For what happened with Valentine."

"That wasn't your fault," I say blankly. "It had to happen. He had to die."

"But you didn't have to kill him," Lief says. "That was supposed to be me. Not you. I shouldn't have made you go through it. I know it messes with you."

"You didn't make me do anything," I say finally. "It was my choice. Him or you."

"And you picked me?" Lief shakes his head. "You loved him and you don't like me. Why would you do something like that?"

I loved Valentine. That's not a lie. But in the end, I couldn't reconcile what he'd done to us with the person I thought I knew. I don't explain that. I just say, "You're more useful to me alive than dead."

He laughs. "Don't go falling in love again," he tells me. "I don't think Panem is ready for it. Or anywhere in the world, for that matter."

"So tell me, darling, do you wish we'd fall in love?" I sing softly.

"Yeah, all the time," Lief says, and then we both laugh like lunatics. All the other tributes stare at us, and even the Careers stop what they're doing to look.


	5. No One Knows

As of now, I'm keeping my promise to update every week. So far, so good. Thanks to NikkiXCORE, bbymojo, Laurafxox, and BreeBree12345 for reviewing. As always, reviews are appreciated and I hope you all enjoy this next chaper.

* * *

The next day, Lief and I split up for good. We don't arrive in the gym together, we don't eat lunch together, and aside from the group sessions, we don't train together. I know why we're doing this, but it's a bit lonely. Although it does have one unforeseen effect on the tribute dynamic; while I'm refining my snares at the knot-tying station, I realize that I have a shadow.

"How's it going, District Seven?" Cato says in my ear, and I jump a little. I heard him coming up behind me, but still, I didn't expect him to get so _close_.

"Not bad," I say. The snare is set; all I need is something to trip it. "Go stand over there, would you?"

Cato looks where I'm pointing, then back at me. "All right…" he says guardedly.

It's not that I need him to stand in that certain spot; it's that I need him to walk across the snare line. He walks across it, steps into the concealed loop, and is immediately hoisted into the air by his ankle.

I can't help it; I burst out laughing. Lief looks up from the target he's throwing knives at, notices Cato dangling in midair, and shoots me a dirty look. _You're supposed to be winning him over_.

_You said to be my normal self_, I point out. _This is my normal self_.

Lief just shakes his head.

"All right, let me down now," Cato says. He's not angry, exactly, but he sure isn't thrilled, either. I disengage the snare and Cato drops back down. "What exactly do you use that for?"

"Besides catching hapless tributes?" I say with a shrug. "Food, I guess."

"You can get food at the Cornucopia," Cato says.

"Not unless you're willing to fight it out," I say. "That's not my style. I'm more of an evader."

"An evader wouldn't have hung me up like that," Cato disagrees. He keeps his distance, but he studies me, his head tilted to the side. The pose reminds me of Valentine, the way he was always taking the measure of me, my posture, my mood, and my thoughts. "I don't think you're an evader. I think you just pick the fights you think you can win."

"I don't think I could win a fight against you," I say. That's it, Spirit, feed the ego. Unfortunately, it's also true.

"Which station are you going to now?" he asks. Something in his voice tells me I'd better pick a skill I'm good at. I can just imagine Valentine's voice challenging me to impress him.

_Come on, pretty girl. Let's see what you've got_.

"Hand-to-hand combat."

"Mind if I come along?"

"No. It's fine." I set off for the hand-to-hand combat station with Cato beside me and the eyes of every Career tribute boring into my back. It's kind of disconcerting, but there's nothing malevolent in their stares; it's mostly curious. They, like Cato, are waiting to see what I'll do next.

The trainer covers the ground rules with the two of us - well, basically with me. Cato just stands there rolling his eyes. I'm sure it's all old news to him. But I've never had classic battle training, so some of it comes as a shock to me. You're not allowed to bite your practice partner when he/she is choking you? _Really?_

Cato has his practice bout first. It lasts all of three seconds. He literally picks up his practice partner and throws the poor guy on the ground. The trainer sighs. "You next, Spirit."

I go and help Cato's practice partner up. "You don't get paid enough for this," I tell him.

He shakes his head. "I don't get paid. I'm a volunteer. It's an honor to work with the tributes."

He's saying this as they check him for a concussion. I'll never understand these Capitol freaks. My partner is a woman, heavily muscled enough that I have to wonder about steroids. Her hair is streaked blood-red and she's wearing what appears to be the women's equivalent of a muscle shirt, but she still gives me a friendly smile. "I'll go easy on you," she tells me.

Something about that rubs me the wrong way. "Thanks, but no thanks."

She's about four inches taller than me, and I can just tell by the way she walks, by the way she bounces on the balls of her feet and holds her fists up in front of her face that she's classically trained. Me, I'm keeping my center of gravity low, shifting my weight intermittently from hip to hip so I'll be difficult to unbalance. My hands are loose at my sides.

The streetfighting style of my homeland is based on the assumption that you're going to take some hits, and it's designed to minimize the power of those hits by giving you maximum mobility. In my fights with my fellow soldiers and the Peacekeepers, I learned to always take the cheap shots and never leave an enemy with the ability to come back for another round. If I were having this fight up north, I would break her knee, drop her to the ground, and stomp on her face. But that's not allowed. So I'll need a new plan.

"Begin," the trainer says. Cato is watching me with unguarded interest. So are the other Careers. They've left their stations to come observe.

Her advantage is her height. If she gets me in a clinch, she'll have more leverage than I will. So I have to negate that advantage if I'm going to do well. I drop to one knee and sweep her legs out from under her. I hear someone - probably Cato - laughing, but I can't focus on him. I press my advantage, pinning my practice partner into a kimura armlock. She pressure points me with her free hand and I let go, rolling away and back to my feet, so that by the time she's on her knees, I'm ready and waiting for her.

I draw back and tae kick her in the ribs. She keels over, clutching her side, and I lunge for her, even though she's tapping out, conceding the fight. I hit the ground next to her and put her in a headlock, ready to choke her out or break her neck, when someone pulls me away.

"Easy there," Cato says, laughing. "Save it for the arena."

The trainer, however, doesn't think it's so funny. "You could kill someone fighting like that!"

"That's the point, isn't it?" I say. "You're training us to kill. But I suppose it's different if it's one of -"

Luckily for me and the probably treasonous insult I was about to spit out, the bell goes off, announcing that it's time for lunch. "Come on, District Seven," Cato says. "Let's go have some lunch."

I head for the dining room, but when Cato stays beside me instead of splitting off, something occurs to me. "Were you inviting me to eat with you?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Thanks." But inside, I'm actually terrified of having to spend an entire lunch in the company of the Careers. I've never been very good at socializing; I've usually gotten by on being funny, and I don't know if that's going to fly with this crowd.

_Don't worry so much_, Lief says. _Cato likes you, and that's, like, nine-tenths of the battle. You're good. And the Gamemakers are impressed with your hand-fighting_.

When Cato and I make it into the dining room, there's already a line formed in front of the food carts, but a couple tributes clear out to make space for Cato, and by extension, me. God, no wonder a Career always wins. They come into this thing with such confidence that everyone else is terrified of them. I bet when the tributes from the other districts get killed, they aren't even surprised.

I load up my plate with something that looks like pot roast and a baked potato covered in cheese, butter, and bacon, foods I've only read about in the few books that survived the initial bombings and the ensuing years. I glance longingly at the dessert table, but my plate is already pretty full and I figure I can swing by later.

I sit down between Clove and the girl from District One, Glimmer. It's irrational, because I could take them both on in a fight and not do too badly, but I'm nervous to be around them. Even though they've probably never killed a person and I've killed more than I can count, even though I know exactly how these Games are going to unfold and they don't have a clue, they're confident. I'm not. And therein lies the difference between the Careers and the rest of us.

"District Seven, great job at the hand-to-hand station," Clove says. "That trainer was an asshole."

"No kidding," Glimmer agrees. "He was staring at my boobs the whole time I was over there. I heard what you said to him. 'You could kill someone fighting like that'!" she mimics the trainer. "And then you were like, 'That's the point, isn't it?' I laughed so hard."

I shrug. "I try. Is that bread communal or what?"

"What's communal mean?" says the boy from District One. Marvel, I think.

"It means that something is to be shared," I say. I look pointedly at him; he has the bread bowl in front of him and he's unloading slice after slice. "A skill you're not too good at, I see."

The other Careers laugh, and Marvel rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "Clove," I say, deciding to switch the subject. "Has your mentor come up with an angle for you on your interview?"

"I know mine has," Glimmer says.

"So what is it? Or are you not allowed to say?"

"Boobs," Glimmer says, and everybody laughs. "No, seriously. That's the whole plan!"

I'm finding this hard to wrap my head around. "How exactly do boobs pertain to answering interview questions?"

"Who knows?" Glimmer says. "I think my stylist is handling that part."

"My stylist is okay, but my prep team is nuts," Marvel says. "They kept trying to wax my face."

"Your face could use it, Marvel," Glimmer says, and he tosses a roll at her. She catches it, takes a bite, and says to me with her mouth full, "So what's the deal with the boy from your district? Is he good at anything other than knocking himself out?"

"He seems kind of pathetic to me," Clove adds. "Total pushover."

"He's good at hand-to-hand," I say. "But I don't think he's been over to that station yet."

"District Seven must be a pretty rough place," Cato comments.

I actually don't know anything about what kind of place District Seven is, but since Lief won't give me away and these sessions will never be on television, I can say whatever I want. Even though I'm tempted to tell them that it rains strawberries every Thursday, I keep it moderately realistic. "Yeah, you learn a lot living there."

"Then how come your tributes usually suck?" Marvel says.

"They aren't street rats," I say. "You know, kids who live on the street," I elaborate, when I get some blank looks. "If you don't have a place to go at night, you learn fast. Or you get your nose broken a couple times and _then _you learn."

I'm talking about District Seven, but I might as well be talking about my homeland. Except there, if you're out at night, worse things than a broken nose will happen to you.

"How old are you?" Cato says to me.

"Eighteen," I say.

"You were almost safe," he says.

Yeah, come to think of it, I almost was, but it's not the Games I would've been safe from. If I'd taken Valentine's side when his betrayal was revealed, they would have killed me along with him and I would've been safe. Back home, the only safety or peace you get is in death.

"How old are you?" I respond.

"Eighteen."

"So were you," I say. "Almost safe, I mean."

"I volunteered," Cato says. "I've always wanted to win the Games."

"But what if you don't win?"

That pretty much stops the conversation at the table. Everyone stares at me. I've finally touched down on the topic that can shatter the arrogant veneer the Careers project. Cato leans forward, his chin resting in his hand, studying me in that Valentine-like way that I always thought was a little unnerving.

"I mean, you all think you're going to win, don't you?" I say, looking around at the Careers. "You can't all win. What about you, Glimmer? Marvel? Clove, do you think you're going to win the Games?"

None of them answer. They all look away. Despite all their bravado, all their confidence in their deadly skills, they know the truth - that only one of them is coming out of that arena alive.

"Do you think you're going to win?" This question comes from Cato.

"I don't know," I say. Lie.

"That's a bullshit answer," Cato tells me, not angry, just matter-of-fact. "That's the kind of answer you give in your interviews if you're working the "mysterious" angle. You know. Do you think you're going to win?"

I stare right back into his eyes. I'm not caving in. "Yes. I think I'm going to win."

"Well, I think I'm going to win, too," Cato says. And then he smiles. "So that makes us two of a kind."

"Hey, what about me?" Glimmer says. "I don't think I'm gonna win - I know it!"

The others chime in as well, and the one serious conversation I'm ever likely to have with the Careers goes up in smoke and boasting. Cato doesn't join in; he's basically said it all. Then the bell rings again, signaling the end of lunch, and we all get up to go back into training, Glimmer complaining the whole way about how the Capitol food is so rich that she won't be able to fit into her interview dress.

Cato hangs back to walk with me. "They won't make it past the first week, District Seven."

"It's Spirit," I tell him.

"All right. Spirit. Let me tell you something," he says. "I've trained with Clove for years, and I never saw her do anything like what you did at the hand-to-hand station. You and me, District Seven. We're the same."

I smile. And then I realize that no matter how I try to think my way out of it, only four people will be coming out of the arena. Cato won't be one of them.

No matter how alike we are, one of us still has to die.


	6. Best Shot

A/N: First off, I've posted six chapters now and I haven't done a disclaimer. I don't own the Hunger Games or any of Suzanne Collins' characters. I do, however, own Maia, Lief, Spirit, and Elisheba. Nobody else.

Also, I'm a little saddened that I don't have anybody to thank for reviewing, but whatever. I'm not going to hold the story hostage for reviews because it bugs me when people do that. That being said, I would love for people to review the story. In particular, I've noticed that my characterization of Cato has differed a lot from what other authors are doing, and I'd love to know what people think of it in comparison.

And now I have wasted enough time with this author's note. On with the story.

* * *

The last training day proceeds much as the two before did, except that Lief joins us at the Career table. He makes a strong showing during hand to hand combat and matches Marvel target for target at the spear-throwing station. Clove, Cato, Lief and I have our last group session - disorientation training - right before lunch, so by the time we stagger in, none of us feel like eating.

"Whoa," Glimmer says, taking in all of our green-tinged faces. "What happened to you guys?"

"Well," I say, concentrating hard on pulling my chair out and sitting down, "I spent the last five minutes in a barrel, getting rolled all over the gym. I'm a little dizzy."

"It's your own fault," Cato tells me. "The rest of us had the good sense to stay _in _the barrel. You were the only one dumb enough to try to get out and walk."

"Watch who you're calling dumb," I say, tossing a roll at him, but my aim is so off that it hits Clove instead. "Sorry. I could've done without having this station right before the private sessions."

"It's handicapping," Clove says. She picks up the roll and takes a bite, then says with a full mouth, "They know we're going to be the best, so they try to throw us off a little - that way, they won't have to give us all twelves."

"We skipped that station, didn't we, Marvel?" Glimmer says, and giggles. "Oops."

"What's disorientation training even for?" Marvel says.

"It's an excuse for the trainers to laugh at us," I mutter. I stick my fork into the ham slice on my plate and focus on raising it to my mouth.

"No, it's so you can handle yourself if your senses are impaired from dehydration or blood loss," Cato says. "It's important. I heard from my mentor that everyone who wins the Games gets high marks in disorientation training."

I'm not sure what's more surprising; that Cato thinks disorientation training is important or that he even knows what it's for. But then again, it figures. He's trained his whole life for this moment. It makes sense that he wouldn't be cavalier about anything that might keep him alive.

"Private sessions after lunch," Lief says, stuffing two pieces of ham into his mouth at once. "Everybody ready?"

Shrugs all around the table. Everybody's trying to be modest, while inside, they're thinking about how they're going to get the best training score, land the most sponsors, up their chances of surviving. This Career double-talk really gets on my nerves, how they say one thing and think another.

The hypocrisy occurs to me a few seconds later. It's not any different than what I'm doing.

"I'm ready," I say. Cato catches my eye and grins. It's become a joke by now.

Glimmer snorts. "Of course you're ready, Spirit. They'll probably give you, like, an eight or something."

"An eight?" I say, insulted. "What makes you think I'm getting an eight? I want a ten - at the very least!"

"I'll eat to that," Marvel says, reaching out and forking the last remaining ham slice off my plate. I grab for it, but I'm still a little dizzy, and by the time I get a fix on him, the ham slice is already in his mouth.

"That was mine, you gorilla!"

Another ham slice lands on my plate. "Here. Have mine. I took too much," Cato says. "Hey, Marvel, if you keep eating like that, you're going to be too fat to run!"

I stare at the ham slice like it's a foreign object. I know for a fact that Cato did not take too much food, because I saw him eat twice that amount yesterday and the day before. There are boys here in the Games I could imagine giving away their food - Peeta Mellark from District Twelve, and Lief, too - but not Cato. When he has something, be it a knife he likes from a training station or a roll out of the bread basket, he hangs onto it and never lets go. Why would he give food to me?

_Maybe he's trying to make you fat_, Lief cackles. Thanks to his mind-reading abilities, Lief knows the real reason, but he likes watching me squirm too much to spill the beans. As the tone of my thoughts gets ever more confused, Lief finally takes pity on me. _Stop overthinking it, Spirit, and eat the stupid ham slice_.

I take his advice, eat the ham, and spend the rest of lunch in silence.

After lunch, Marvel stays downstairs in the gym; his private session will be first. The rest of us are ushered back into the lobby of the Training Center to wait for our turns. By the time the Careers, Lief, and I make it up to the lobby, the benches have been claimed by the tributes from Districts Six and Eight, and the boy from District Five. But one look from Cato and the tributes leap off the benches like they've been electrified. I offer a friendly smile to one girl - District Eight, I think - and she looks back at me with a mixture of hostility and fear. I forgot. Careers and non-Careers don't mix. I guess that makes me a Career now.

I end up stuck between Glimmer and Cato. Lief is on the other bench with Clove; the two of them seem to have hit it off. It's nice to know that even if I die in the bloodbath, Lief will still have an in with the Careers.

Glimmer starts yammering into my ear about god knows what and I have a fleeting uncharitable thought of _I'm not going to miss you when you die _before I catch myself. I tune her out and try to focus on my upcoming session.

I'm startled by a shriek. Glimmer grabs onto my hand. "Wow, what a rock!"

I look down at the hand she's gripping and discern that the focus of her attention is my sunstone ring. I must have resorted to my nervous habit of twisting the ring and drawn her eyes. "Oh. Um, thanks."

"Those are diamonds, aren't they?" she continues. "I know diamonds. And the red one in the middle, it's not a ruby. It's not a garnet, either. If it were a garnet, it'd have more blue in it. It's a sunstone, right?"

"Yeah."

"Where'd you get it?" Glimmer says. "I didn't think they had things like that in District Seven."

"You mean, you didn't think we had anything of value in District Seven?" I've become strangely protective of my adopted district.

"Yes," Glimmer says unashamedly. "So where'd you get it?"

"Family heirloom," I say, which isn't a lie. I'm just hoping it'll end the discussion.

Just my luck; it appears that Cato wants to put in his proverbial two cents. "But you said you were a street rat," he says. He's not exactly frowning; just thinking. "You could've sold that ring and gotten enough to pay your way for the rest of your life. Why didn't you?"

"It has sentimental value," I say, shrugging. "And I was doing okay for myself on the street. I didn't need to sell it."

Cato looks like he's about to respond, but then Glimmer's name is called. She gets up, gives us a little wave, and prances off to the gym. Things seem quiet without her. Lief and Clove have settled down, too. Lief looks like he's about to fall asleep.

"So," I say to Cato.

"So what?"

"The alliance," I say. "Are we in or not?"

"We? Who's we?" he says. "You and…you and Lief?"

"Me and Lief." Why, who else was he thinking of?

Cato considers it. "You're in, District Seven. I've seen what you can do. The Gamemakers would have to be blind not to give you a nine at least. Lief…we'll see."

_I hope you heard that_, I send to Lief. _Be impressive. Get a good score_.

He ignores me.

Cato and I sit in silence, him thinking about I don't know what and me thinking that Valentine never would have let there be quiet between us. He would have been asking me questions about myself, talking to me, learning everything about me. Making me believe he cared, when really, he was only looking for the most effective way to stab me in the back.

_That's not true, Spirit_, Lief says. _He loved you_.

I don't respond to that. It's my turn to ignore him.

After fifteen minutes or so, an attendant comes up from the gym and calls Cato's name. He stands, stretches, cracks his knuckles, and sets off.

"Good luck," I call after him. Then I want to turn back time and swallow the words, because between the way Cato's looking at me - puzzled - and how all the other tributes are outright staring, I know I've made a mistake. What was I thinking? Nobody wishes each other good luck; you don't wish good luck to someone who's survival means your death. How could I have been so stupid?

Cato's puzzled look fades, and he smiles slightly. "Thanks. Good luck to you, too, Spirit."

He disappears into the elevators. It occurs to me that this is the first time he's called me Spirit without me having to ask him to.

After Clove leaves, Lief comes and sits beside me. "You're making progress, Spirit. How are you holding up?"

"Fine," I say, because Cato is just dissimilar enough to Valentine that I can convince myself that they're not the same person. Most of the time.

Lief nudges me with his shoulder. "You're really brave, Spirit. Everybody's going to remember you as a hero."

"You, too, Lief."

"No, not me," Lief disagrees, shaking his head. "I did this to redeem myself after what happened with Valentine. All I'll do is get them to stop hating me. They'll never believe in me the way they do with you."

I open my mouth to respond, then close it. Nothing I can say will convince him otherwise, and besides, he's probably right.

The districts slip by and I fall back into worries about the upcoming session. For awhile I even entertain the notion of shape-changing to impress the Gamemakers, but they'd probably panic, call the Peacekeepers, and have me imprisoned on the spot. And even if they didn't, I'd be revealing my trump card, my last resort, and that would be too stupid even for me.

I remember the first time I changed shape. I was four years old and we were under attack. The Peacekeepers had found our settlement and come to flush us out, armed with mutts and flamethrowers to stamp out the northern menace. Fire is dangerous out on the tundra; if it catches on the grass, it can scorch hundreds of miles before reaching a river, destroying food sources and bringing our chances of survival next winter down to zero. My people weren't even fighting the mutts. They were just trying to keep the flames out.

The other children were already hidden safely underground. Their parents put them there as soon as we got wind of the attack. My parents had been dead for years, so instead of hiding out like the others, I was wandering through the smoke, a bucket in my hand, dousing whatever flames I could find. That was when I ran across the mutts.

They were fox mutts. Fox mutts are just as intelligent as their base animal, but to that intelligence, the Capitol scientists added extra speed, strength, poisonous fangs, and a twisted need to maim. But fox mutts don't kill you outright. All they have to do is get in one bite and let the poison do the rest.

The fox mutts swiped at me with their claws, hissing and snarling. I was in a circle of them, dodging their attacks and smacking them with my empty bucket whenever one came within reach.

Then the claws sliced into my leg. I let out a yelp of pain and retaliated. But not with the bucket; with my bare hands. I was shocked to see wounds open up on the fox mutt's side. I had no weapons. And then I looked at my hand and saw the scales, the claws, the way it no longer resembled something belonging to a human. It looked like the paw of one of the creatures in a book. Not quite real.

I burst into tears, because I thought I was a mutt, too.

"Spirit Emerson!"

I look at the bench beside me and realize that Lief is gone. Have I really been so lost in my memories that I failed to hear him being called?

"Spirit Emerson," the attendant repeats irritably. "It's your turn."

I get up and walk unsteadily to the elevators, passing Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen on the way. Peeta offers a smile. Katniss - well, she doesn't exactly frown, but she isn't as friendly as Peeta is, not by a long shot.

_Be nice to me_, I think. _I'm here to keep an eye on you, after all_.

In the Training Center, I climb a couple walls, toss knives, and tie my snare, all the while keeping one eye on the Gamemakers. They're only sort of paying attention, and I realize that this isn't going to cut it. To get that nine Cato was talking about, to secure my place in the Career pack and my ability to protect District Twelve, I'm going to have to pull out the proverbial big guns.

I walk to the axe-handling station, a place I never visited during group training, and lift one axe after another, searching for the one with the correct balance. I find it and give it a few spins, then launch it into the nearest target, dead center. I retrieve the axe and do it again. A quick glance at the Gamemakers shows that I have their attention, but not for long. I need to make this last shot count.

I back up twelve steps and aim for the farthest target. I don't care whether I hit the center or not; I just have to hit that target before I run out of time.

_Thunk_.

The axe remains embedded in the target for a good minute and a half before falling away. As soon as it drops to the floor, the Head Gamemaker turns to me. "You may go, Miss Emerson."

"Thank you," I say quietly, and I leave, riding the elevator all the way up to the seventh floor. Everybody is waiting for me outside the doors, faces expectant or worried or somewhere in between.

"So, loveless, what was the damage from today?" Johanna says.

"It didn't go too badly," I say. "I mean, it's not like they got up and cheered, but nobody was asleep."

Lief swears. "Dammit, they stayed awake for you but not for me?"

"I'm sure you were both just wonderful," Maia says. "All you have to do now is relax, have dinner, and wait to get your score."

I can have dinner and wait, but relaxing is an entirely different matter. Lief's nervousness is rubbing off on me, and I can't sit still. Instead I pace, roaming around our floor, poking my head into every room, keeping myself moving if not busy until the special broadcast of the tributes' scores.

Marvel's score is a nine, as is Glimmer's. Cato and Clove, on the other hand, both get tens. I'm not surprised. The other tributes' scores fly by until we reach District Seven. Lief's score comes up first - a nine. Blight, showing signs of life for the first time since I've known him, cheers and pounds Lief on the back.

"That's what I like to see," he says. Lief, who hasn't had anyone say something good about him since before I killed Valentine, smiles brighter than I've seen in ages.

"Fingers crossed, Spirit," Maia stage-whispers as my picture appears on the screen. My head shot looks like I'm half asleep, but I'm not looking at the bad picture. I'm looking at the two-digit number below it. A ten. I tied Cato and Clove.

Everyone erupts into cheers. Maia bursts into happy tears, right alongside my prep team. Elisheba orders champagne. Johanna looks at me and gives an approving nod.

Lief pumps a fist in the air. "Watch out, Panem - District Seven's on the loose!"

The celebration dies down a bit when Katniss Everdeen pulls her eleven, but Lief and I remain just as jubilant. We've survived this phase of things, with impressive enough scores to get us at least a few sponsors, an alliance with the Careers, and a decent chance of protecting Katniss and Peeta through this mess.

I go to sleep happy, and it must translate to my subconscious, because for the first time in ever, Valentine's presence in my dreams isn't malignant. I dream of us out on one of the rivers we used to love, floating toward the ocean, with nothing between us and the horizon.


	7. Dirty Little Secret

A/N: Hello, everyone. It's week three of the "submit a new chapter every Saturday" and I'm staying the course. Massive thank-yous to everyone who reviewed: Rachelle31, HermioneandMarcus, I'mStillDreamin, and Nelle07. Thank you for taking the time to review. As always, reviews are love. This chapter will be short because it's sort of a lead-in to interviews, which is next chapter, and we're coming up on the arena so fast that I'm a little surprised. Please PM or review and tell me what you think! Okay, onward with the story.

* * *

The joy I felt last night evaporates in the morning, when I'm dragged out of bed unreasonably early to begin interview preparations. Maia, who I've always thought of as sort of spineless, stands over me while I gobble down my breakfast, giving me the schedule and snapping at me to sit up straighter. Lief has always had this weird habit of waking up at the crack of dawn, so he's looking awfully chipper, grinning at me across the table.

"Morning, Spirit," he says. "Got your angle figured out?"

"Too early. Talk later," I manage.

"Want to know what mine is?"

"With every bone in my body."

Lief leans forward, grinning like he's imparting the secrets of the universe. "I'm happy," he says.

"Imagine that."

I'm starting to think that everyone's been shot up with adrenaline, because even Blight is more awake than I am. Johanna sits down across from me. "Lief says you've got the boy from District Two wrapped around your little finger. Is it true?"

My mouth is full, so I can't respond immediately - but that doesn't stop me from gagging on oatmeal as I attempt to. I swallow, drink some milk to make my eyes stop watering, and say, "What?"

"You heard me," Johanna says. "Is it true?"

"He told me I was in the alliance," I say, drinking more milk.

"Well, he wasn't lying, because his mentor just put in a formal request for you and Lief as allies," Blight chimes in. "Johanna and Lief accepted it on your behalf; you were still asleep."

"So it's official now?" I say. "Who else?"

"Everybody we were hanging out with," Lief says. "Marvel, Glimmer, Cato, Clove."

I think back to the list of enemies I made on the train. It feels like a lifetime ago. And everyone I've just made an alliance with is on that list. Back in the north, they told me to keep my enemies close. I bet they didn't expect me to keep them quite this close, but still.

"Spirit," Blight says seriously, "I don't know what you did to the boy from District Two, but whatever it was, keep doing it. You've got him."

"I didn't do anything to him!" I protest, but it's lost in the shuffle as Maia begins to advise Johanna and Blight on how to coordinate with the District One and Two mentors on sponsors and gifts without stepping on the others' toes. This lesson goes on for quite awhile - apparently no District Seven tribute has ever gotten in with the Careers - and I decide to put my head down on the table and try to sleep.

Apparently it works.

"Spirit, wake up," a voice says. I open my eyes and find Lief shaking my shoulder.

I say something intelligent along the lines of "Ugh?"

Lief smiles. "I'm done with my prep sessions already. We let you sleep."

"Thanks."

"Prepare yourself," Lief warns me. "It's going to be bad. They were really hard on me."

That wakes me up for sure. Everybody likes Lief - me, they're less sure about. If they were awful to Lief, then I'm going to be in for a rough few hours.

"They're in the living room," Lief says. He gives me a little shove out of my chair. "Go on…"

I get up and walk into the living room, Lief trailing after me. Maia and Johanna are sitting on the couch that faces the door, looking like a tribunal minus one. "Well," Johanna says. "Look who's awake."

I sit down opposite them. "Now what do we do?"

"You can handle yourself fairly well," Maia says. "No odd facial quirks, no inability to walk in heels -"

"Heels?"

"Those boots Elisheba put you in for your chariot ride," Johanna explains. "Go on, Maia."

"Today we'll be focusing less on your presentation and more on the actual content of your interview," Maia continues. "You're doing quite well so far. Impressive training score, an alliance with the Careers. But we need to figure out how we'll present you to the viewers."

"Maybe do the sexy angle," Lief says. He's plunked himself down on the couch beside me. I pick up a pillow and throw it at him. Nothing deters him, and he continues, "Doesn't Spirit just ooze sexy?"

Johanna pulls a skeptical face. "No."

I agree. I'm not even insulted.

"How about we try a mock interview?" Maia suggests. "I'll ask you questions, and then we'll see what we can come up with."

"You mean, what we can pull from the ashes," Johanna says. This time I _am_ insulted, and I glare at her. Just because I can't be sexy doesn't mean that I can't manage to be at least a little more personable.

"What?" she says innocently.

"Nothing," I mutter. "Let's just get on with it."

Maia offers me a gleaming, scarily white smile. "So, Spirit, what's it like to live in District Seven?"

Dammit. I have absolutely no idea. Of course I don't; I spent a total of twelve hours in District Seven, and I can't make something up with Johanna - who actually lives in District Seven - sitting right in front of me. I don't know what to say. And the mock interview goes way downhill from there. Far from winning people over, nobody's enjoying it. Least of all, me.

"You're smirking," Maia tells me. "Stop smirking!"

"For the last time, I'm not smirking," I defend. "I think I know what my own face is doing, thank you very much!"

"You know, Spirit, you are kind of smirking," Lief adds from the couch. His biggest problem was that his laugh sounds kind of like a donkey braying. Blight solved that problem by telling him not to laugh at his own jokes. If he can manage to do that, it'll be a miracle. But in any case, he's done, and now he's observing everything that happens to me.

"Shut up!"

"Uh-oh, and now Spirit has crossed the line from crabby to completely hostile," Lief says, like he's commentating on a game. "Where will she strike next? I hate to tell you, Spirit, but paranoid schizophrenia doesn't play well with the audience -"

I pull off one of my shoes and hurl it at his head. He ducks and the shoe hits a mirror on the wall behind him that I was planning to break anyway, so it's not a loss. Then I stomp out of the room.

"What was that?" I hear Maia say in a hushed voice after I slam the door.

Lief is laughing fit to burst, sounding exactly like the ass he is. "I just got Spirit to rage-quit her interview."

I've heard enough. I head for the elevators, taking off my other shoe and throwing it into an empty room on the way. Once inside, I press the button for the roof. I need to be alone, and since all the other tributes are prepping for their interviews, no one else will be up there. I pace the elevator until the doors open, and then I bolt out into the rooftop garden.

There's a section full of bright flowers that I veer past, and another with trees. I veer into the tree section, flopping down in the shade of what I think is a willow. If I'm going to cry, now would be an appropriate time for it, but I'm too ashamed and angry to produce tears.

I blew it. I'm not ready for this interview. Forget about sponsors - I have to convince an entire country that I'm one of them. And after today, anyone who sees me up there will know I'm not from Panem!

I hear the hiss of the elevator doors, and then Johanna's voice. "I know you're up here. Come out, Spirit. Or is that even your real name?"

I freeze. "What did you say?"

"There you are." Johanna strolls through the garden toward me, looking perfectly at ease. Of course she does. This is her world. She's not a thousand miles from home. She belongs here. When she reaches the tree section, she sits down on a bench a few feet away from me. "Is Spirit your real name? Or is it just a cover?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." The elders drilled this into me. If someone suspects you, deny it. Deny that you are anything other than a citizen of Panem until the person questioning you drops it.

Johanna doesn't drop it. She's like an ice wolf - once she gets her teeth into something, she won't let go until it's dead. "No, Spirit's your real name, all right. But you aren't from District Seven."

"Yes, I am."

"Please." Johanna rolls her eyes. "Look, loveless, you may have Maia fooled, and Blight's in too much of a morphling haze to notice, but I'm not stupid. There's your district accent, for one thing - when you get angry, you drop it. And then there was your reaction when Maia asked you about District Seven. Most tributes are desperate to talk about home. To them it's like one step closer to being there. But you, you dropped that subject like it was on fire. You aren't from District Seven. You aren't even from Panem. Which begs the question - where are you from, Spirit?"

My cover's been blown sky-high. Whatever doubts Johanna already had, my outburst during the mock interview confirmed them, and she knows. There's no point in denying it any longer, but I don't have to tell her exactly who I am. There might still be a chance for me to salvage this mess.

"Where I'm from doesn't matter," I say. "Does it?"

Johanna rolls her eyes again. "Loveless, it all matters. You could be the first victor District Seven's had in six years and you're not even from District Seven. But what I want to understand is, why would somebody who's free from the Capitol want to be in the Hunger Games?"

"I'm here because I have to be." That's true.

"Well, you'd better have a plan then, loveless," Johanna says, "because whatever you came here to do, it sure isn't going to be easy."

There's no way for me to confirm how much Johanna knows, whether she's guessed where I'm from, but it doesn't matter, because it seems like she's going to keep it to herself. And for certain she has no idea what my purpose here is. But I have to make sure. "So you're not going to hand me over?"

"Loveless, I wouldn't even know who to hand you over to," Johanna says, laughing. "No. Your little secret's safe with me. But I'd better teach you about District Seven, in case the old clown doing the interviews decides to ask you about it."

Johanna drills the details of life in District Seven into me for two hours, the names of the trees and rivers, the gathering places where the street rats hang out. She even teaches me a few verses of a district song about some kind of dance called the 'twist and shout'. I have a hard time seeing the necessity of the last.

"I don't think Caesar Flickerman is going to ask me about the twist and shout, Johanna," I say after I've repeated the song for the fifth time. "And I think the city in the song was in District Eleven."

"Whatever," Johanna says. "And if he asks you about the twist and shout, you can always sing the song. Your voice isn't half bad. All right, you're done. I think you've got it."

We go back downstairs and I take another stab at my mock interview, this time getting through the answers and keeping the smirking to a minimum. Maia sits back, satisfied. "There you go, Spirit. I knew you had it in you. Johanna, what should her angle be? I'm thinking -"

"Mysterious," Johanna says, cutting her off. "I think Spirit will do quite well at that."

She shoots me a glance, eyebrows raised. I nod carefully, and we take the interview again, this time with me being as ambiguous as possible while still volunteering information about myself. I'm not surprised to find that I'm good at it. These last few weeks have been good practice.

Today's been a day for allies; but not all of them will be inside the arena.


	8. All the Right Moves

A/N: All right, only one chapter left until the arena! In the mean time, this is the longest chapters I've posted in the story. Thanks to HermioneandMarcus and epride1981 for reviewing. Almost at twenty reviews! I'm very happy about that. All right. Here is the next chapter and please enjoy!

* * *

Valentine is walking through a white forest, leaving no footprints in the pristine snow. That's how I know he's dead; northerners believe that when the dead walk in the world of the living, they leave no tracks. I run to catch up with him, ruining the unbroken white with my hasty footsteps, catching his hand and pulling him around to face me. "Valentine -"

"We're waiting for you," he says to me. "It's time for you to come home, Spirit."

"No, V," I say, using his nickname, the one that I made up. "I can't. I'm supposed to be here."

His hand is suddenly ice-cold and unbelievably strong; it closes around my wrist like a shackle. "Oh, Spirit," he whispers, pulling me into a frozen embrace. "This is where you belong. With me. And your family."

Valentine keeps an arm around me and turns me to face the forest ahead of us. They step out of the black shadows; a man and a woman, dark-haired and brown-eyed. I've never seen them before, but I know them. My parents, who died when I was too young to remember them.

The woman holds out her arms to me, but I know that her touch will be just as cold as Valentine's. I shy away. "V, I'm still alive. You know that."

He smiles at me, touches my face. "Not for long."

I flinch backwards away from him, and a silly, high-pitched voice intrudes into the silent world of the white forest. "Now, really, Spirit, you've made me smudge your lipstick!"

_What?_

I open my eyes to find myself sitting in the chair in my room at the Training Center, with Marsyas crouched in front of me, attempting to apply a silvery-purple lipstick to my mouth. The white forest is gone. Valentine and my parents were a dream. And I'm deep in the throes of interview prep. It's tonight, and my prep team has a lot of work to do.

"Spirit," Marsyas whines, poking the tube of lipstick at me. "Smile, dear, I can't apply this while you're frowning!"

I form my lips into a smile. "Sorry, Marsyas. I dozed off for a minute."

"Oh, we don't mind," pipes the blonde woman. I think her name is Julia or something. "It's much easier to work on a sleeping person. We're already done with your hair!"

_I don't want to know_, I decide. I just don't want to know. But in order to get Valentine out of my head, I have to focus on the prep team.

"Spirit, give me your hand, I've got to do your nails," Medea, the third member of my prep team, says. Her hair is deep purple and it almost completely hides her face. I don't understand how she can paint such intricate designs when she can hardly see. "Hurry, Elisheba will be here any minute and if we aren't at least done with the airbrushing -"

"Airbrushing?" I try hard not to bolt.

"Only on your left arm and shoulder," Julia says. "You should see what Elisheba's designed for you, Spirit. You're going to look fabulous."

"And sexy," Medea adds in an undertone as she strokes gray polish onto my thumbnail. "Let's not forget sexy."

"I'm not supposed to look sexy," I say, feeling panic set in. I'm not even sure how one goes about being sexy. If someone's changed the plan on me at the last minute, I don't know what I'm going to do.

"Just because you have to look mysterious doesn't mean you can't be alluring at the same time," Marsyas says. "You won't even have to try."

"Oh. Okay." There are many things I'll do for my people, up to and including giving my life, but trying to be sexy is not on the list. I try to ignore the tickling of the airbrush device on my shoulder by focusing on something else, but all I can think of is the dream I had about Valentine. And how my mother, who died of radiation sickness years ago, and my father, who died in battle, were there.

Radiation sickness is only found in shape-changers. The more shape-changer blood you have in you, the more likely you are to get it. Valentine was a shape-changer, but his was a spontaneous mutation, and Lief is half-born. Their chances of getting radiation sickness were and are low. Both of my parents were shape-changers. I have it on both sides. If I don't die in the Games, likely as not it'll be radiation sickness that kills me. It's fatal. The Capitol doctors could cure it - but they'd never cure a northerner.

Right now, I'm three years younger than my mother was when she died. And she wasn't even a full shape-changer. I could go at any time. I wonder if Valentine knows something I don't, or if he's just expecting me to die during the Games.

"Spirit," Elisheba sings out. I startle; I didn't see her enter the room. "I've got your dress right here, and you're going to look stunning."

I don't look at the dress as they slip it over my head, but I register right away that it's strapless. "This is going to slide right off of me," I complain to Elisheba. "I'll end up inadvertently stripping in front of the whole nation."

"Look on the bright side. If that happens, your interview will be absolutely unforgettable," Elisheba responds. "Stick your feet out; we've got to put your shoes on."

I do as they ask, and seconds later, Elisheba says, "Stand up, Spirit. You're wearing heels, so be careful. Come over here and look at yourself."

I stand and stagger slightly, noting that I'm taller than everyone in the room at this point. Marsyas had a good two inches on me before I put the shoes on, so I'm guessing the heels are at least four inches high. I take a few steps, gaining confidence in the shoes before turning to face the mirror.

The dress is a dark, shimmering gray, long and strapless. When I turn to the side, I notice that the left is slit up to the hip, revealing quite a lot of ghost-pale leg. The airbrushed design on my arm is intricate and swirling, ending in a curl around my throat, but my face is relatively clear of makeup. I decide that the whole thing looks good - the only problem is the girl wearing it.

"Elisheba," I say, "you can see the scar."

"Not all of it."

When Valentine lashed out in his death throes, he cut five long lines into my chest with his claws. Only the uppermost portion of the top two are visible - the rest dips below the bodice of the dress - but to me, that's too much. I can't go out there, facing Cato and my fellow tributes and an enemy nation, with such a prominent reminder of my nightmare visible. "I can't wear this," I say.

"Actually, I designed the dress to specifically draw attention to the scar," Elisheba says. "Johanna told me you were working the mysterious angle. The fact that you can only see a bit of the scar, coupled with the mask you'll be wearing, will give the impression that there's more to you than meets the eye."

"A mask?" I say. "Can I see it?"

The half-mask, black and gray and silver, makes me feel a bit better. When I put it on, studying myself in the mirror, I can almost see the person Johanna and Elisheba are trying to turn me into. "Thanks, Elisheba."

Elisheba gives my non-painted shoulder a few quick pats, then adjusts the dress; it's gotten twisted around my hips. "You look gorgeous, Spirit. Enjoy it. Because once the girl from Twelve starts twirling, you'll be yesterday's news."

I laugh. Despite the face that Elisheba is from the Capitol and she's somehow tricked me into a strapless dress that feels like it's about to fall right off of me, it's hard not to like someone who's so painfully honest.

As I leave, Johanna stops me. "Remember," she instructs, "you're supposed to be happy to talk about home. If Caesar asks you that, just imagine that you're talking about wherever the hell you come from and start babbling about trees."

"Thanks."

Down in the lobby, Elisheba gives me some last minute advice. "Chin up. Don't let that tramp from One intimidate you. Your outfit is much better than hers, and you got a better training score. Keep your steps small, or your dress will get tangled at your hips - you can't do your he-man walk tonight."

"I don't have a he-man walk!" I say.

"Good. Then there should be no problem with you not doing it," Elisheba says brusquely. "Good luck, Spirit. And if I see you grab the front of your dress and pull it up one more time, I will personally chop off a couple of your fingers."

"Got it."

Elisheba sweeps out, joining the other stylists and basking in their compliments. They seem pretty impressed with her work on me. I am, too, considering the raw material she had to work with.

Lief comes barreling out of the elevator, dressed in a white button-down shirt and black pants, with a tie looped loosely around his neck. He looks like some kind of medic school refugee. He skids to a stop in front of me and does a double-take. "Whoa, Spirit, you look crazy good."

"Thanks. So do you."

"Liar."

I pretend to be insulted. "How dare you doubt me?"

"I think your exact thoughts were, 'He looks like some kind of medic school refugee', Spirit," Lief says. "I agree. And I'd better clear out. Cato's coming over."

_Don't leave me! _I squeak. Facing Valentine's doppelganger in this utterly scary outfit is too much even for me to handle. But Lief is already gone, bounding toward Clove.

"Hey, District Seven," Cato says, loping toward me. He's in a dark suit that does absolutely nothing to hide his muscles.

"Hey, District Two," I respond, adjusting my mask and resisting the urge to hike up the front of my dress. "What brings you over here?"

I say this because Glimmer is over in the corner that Cato just left, wearing a see-through gold dress and looking distinctly predatory.

"Came to see you," Cato says. "You look -"

He hesitates, as though he can't figure out what to say. I help him out. "Terrifying?"

"Beautiful," he says. His eyes dip down, and I just know that he's not staring at my breasts - it's the scar he's checking out. My suspicions are confirmed a second later when he looks back into my eyes and says, "What happened there?"

"Just an accident."

"That doesn't look like an accident," Cato says. "It looks like some wild animal clawed you."

_Not far wrong_, I think. Then I shrug. "Does it matter?"

Maybe I got a little defensive there. Cato looks surprised, but he covers it quick. "So, Spirit, what's your angle?"

I'm about to tell him, but then I realize that now would be a great time to test it out. "I'm not sure I should tell you," I say. I incline my head and smile slightly.

Cato stares at me like I'm from another planet. I raise my eyebrows, waiting for him to get it. Then I remember that I'm wearing a mask. Oops. A triumphant look suffuses Cato's face. "You're mysterious, aren't you?"

"What do you think?"

"Okay, I get it," Cato says. "Not bad."

"What about you? What's your angle?" I ask.

"Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. You know, the usual District Two thing," Cato says. He doesn't seem all that excited about it. "My mentor isn't exactly the most original person."

"Well," I say. "At least you look good."

Cato laughs. "There is that."

A Capitol attendant comes up to us. "Excuse me, but it's time to line up for your entrance."

"See you onstage," I say to Cato, and I wobble off to line up ahead of Lief. I'm the same height as him in the heels.

"Nervous?" Lief says as we walk toward the doors.

"What about?"

"Well…what if Peeta doesn't say it?"

"You mean, what if he doesn't say that he's in love with Katniss?" I say. "Why wouldn't he?"

"I don't know," Lief says. "Maybe us being here has changed things too much. And if he doesn't -"

"Then what?" I snap. "Am I going to have to pretend I'm in love with you to replace them? I can't believe you're telling me this now!"

"I didn't think of it before!" Lief hisses back. Our whispered argument is starting to attract attention. The girl from District Six turns around to glare at us. I glare right back and hope that I won't have to kill her later.

We parade out onto the stage to thunderous applause and take our seat while Caesar Flickerman welcomes the nation to the interviews. He introduces Glimmer and she steps up, leaning forward so that all the cameras can get a good look down the front of her dress. Caesar has enough manners to avert his eyes while posing his questions.

Glimmer gets a roar of approval as she exits, probably because of her dress rather than her answers, and Marvel steps up. His angle is arrogant. He doesn't have to reach very far for that, but since he's from District One and he got a good training score, the crowd cheers for him as he clomps back to his seat, giving the cameras a jaunty wave as he goes.

Clove's interview is mostly uneventful, but the crowd comes to life when Cato appears. He actually manages to be rather charming in between the requisite boasts and descriptions of how good he is at killing things, and he looks awfully handsome. For sure he's the best-looking boy in the Games. Lief isn't too bad, either, but I've known him since I was a kid. It would be weird for me to be attracted to him. According to my subconscious, however, Cato is fair game.

It's all Valentine's fault. Between his presence in my dreams and Cato's presence in my life, I can't help but think about them both.

_Keep it together, Spirit_, Lief advises.

The next interviews fly by, everybody working a different angle. Some are successful and some aren't, but Caesar still manages to squeeze some applause out of the crowd for every tribute - even the boy who starts dry-heaving onstage. The girl from District Five makes an impression with her rendition of 'elusive', but her training score wasn't good enough to really leave a mark. I kind of blank out after that, praying to my ancestors to keep the world on the path that Abbess foresaw, trying not to think of Valentine or Cato and thinking about them both at the same time.

Then it's my turn. Caesar calls my name. "And now, I give you the girl from District Seven…Spirit Emerson!"

People clap, but it seems like they're bored. Unlike with the tributes from Districts One, Two, and Four - even though Four won't be in the pack this year - there's no instant respect. They aren't going to be impressed with me just because I'm here. I'm going to have to earn it.

I manage to get myself from my seat to the interview chair without falling over, so I count that as a good omen. Caesar smiles at me, and I smile back, chancing a look at the television screens. I look like a cat that just ate the cream. I'm smirking.

"Spirit," Caesar says. "Now there's a name you don't hear every day. Do you know where it came from?"

I do know, actually; a pre-war song with the terrible title of "Every Time I Feel the Spirit", my mother's favorite. That's the story I was told, anyway, but I happen to know that all new parents consult Abbess when their child is born, and I think Abbess saw who I would be when I grew up. The risk taker, the girl who walks the line between this world and the next.

I think they named me Spirit because they knew I'd be one before long.

"No idea," I say. I tilt my head, smile slightly. "I think my parents were just peculiar people."

The audience laughs. By painting my parents as somewhat eccentric, I've come across a subject they can all understand. After the laughter peters out, though, there's silence. I get the distinct impression that Caesar doesn't know what to do with me. Family is an off-limits topic because I'm a street rat, and he can't ask me about being a street rat because no one wants to air District Seven's dirty laundry on national television. That leaves poor Caesar with few options - one of which is training scores.

Just as I expected, Caesar clears his throat and launches into his next attempt to "get to know me". "Spirit, your training score - it was a ten, wasn't it?"

"Unless they've changed it by now." Over in the mentor/escort seating section, Johanna grins. Maia, right beside her, winces and gives an emphatic shake of her head. It appears I've overdone the sarcasm.

"To the best of my knowledge, that's the highest training score that a tribute from District Seven has ever received," Caesar says. "You must be very proud."

Maia glares at me from her seat, and I try not to cower. "I am," I say. "It's a great honor."

Maia sits back, relieved, and Johanna winks at me. She noticed the sarcasm, even if Maia missed it. Actually, the fact that Maia missed is probably a good thing.

"You must have done something fairly impressive during your session," Caesar says. "Care to give us a hint?"

Smile. "I'm afraid I can't," I say. "But fear not - you'll see soon enough."

"With a training score like that, the sponsors will be lining up for you," Caesar says with an encouraging smile. "How do you think you'll do in the Games?"

I make the mistake of shooting a sideways glance at Cato. He catches me looking and raises his eyebrows. I know what he's waiting for me to say, and now that I've seen him, dammit, I have to say it. I square my shoulders and look back at Caesar. "I'm going to win."

A collective _ooh_ comes up from the crowd. I'm sure Cato would have given the same answer if he'd been asked that question, but he wasn't asked, so right now I have the distinction of being the only tribute brazen enough to declare in front of all of Panem that she was going to win the Games.

Caesar seems taken aback, but he covers it quickly. "Confidence is definitely a virtue, Spirit."

"Only if you have the skill and determination to back it up," I say quietly.

"And do you?"

"Well," I say. Tilt my head, smile again. "We'll see, won't we?"

The buzzer goes off. "Yes, we will," Caesar says. "And I'm sure we all will be cheering for you. Spirit Emerson of District Seven, everyone!"

The crowd roars in response and I wobble back to my seat, thinking that maybe it didn't go too badly.

Lief's interview flies past. The crowd laughs along with him as he cracks simplistic but funny jokes about everything from disorientation training to getting his hair ripped out during prep. Then they move on, and while the girl from District Eight tries not to expire from fright onstage, Lief gives me an update on what the Capitol citizens thought of us.

"Well, they just loved you," he whispers, leaning over. "You had just the right mix of humor, bravado, and mystery. Me, they were okay with, but I'm a mildly attractive male with a good training score, and that'll be enough. And I've got you and Cato, so I'll get to freeload off of more successful tributes."

I elbow him. "Make fun of me some other time, when I'm not wearing stiletto heels."

After that, I stop paying attention until we reach District Eleven. Rue, the little girl, is sweet and likable, and it makes me a little sick to think that in a few weeks she'll be dead. Then I remember what my people's settlements look like after the Capitol razes them, and I remind myself that no single life, not mine or Lief's or any other tribute's, is worth more than the safety of the northerners. All our lives (and possible deaths) will be for nothing if the Capitol continues to rule.

The boy from District Eleven, Thresh, says nothing through most of his interview, leaving it to Caesar to fill the awkward silences. Not exactly a great strategy, but between his size and his training score - a ten, like mine - I bet people think he's a contender. Despite the fact that he's about as verbose as a rock.

Then it's Katniss Everdeen's turn. I have to admit she's a little hard to swallow. Twirling in her dress, expounding on her love for lamb stew, talking about how she promised her little sister to win. Cato looks like he's about to puke, and when she gets to the last part, I'm feeling the same way. It's just so…so cheesy.

Peeta takes his place. He's at least as funny as Lief was, and about a minute into the interview, he has the audience eating out of his hand. Lief and I sit tensely in our seats; Peeta's interview is the first major turning point. If he doesn't profess his love for Katniss at the end of his interview, it'll mean that the path has been changed. That Panem won't rebel.

It'll mean that Lief and I have failed before the Games have even begun.

Peeta says it. And while the rest of the tributes - and all of Panem, for that matter - are shocked by the declaration of love, Lief and I both heave sighs of relief.

As soon as we're off the stage, Katniss bolts for the elevators. Lief gets stuck in the same one as her - poor guy - while I veer into an elevator already containing Glimmer, Cato, and Peeta Mellark. After Glimmer exits, Cato opens his mouth to say something, but since he's only one floor up from Glimmer, he doesn't have time to say it before the doors open on his floor and he has to leave. Now I'm alone with Peeta Mellark, the boy who just set the world on fire.

"Nice interview," I tell him. I'm not even being sarcastic.

Peeta doesn't even glance in my direction. "She's going to kill me," he mumbles.

"Are you sorry you said it?"  
"No!" he explodes. Well. Apparently Mr. Nice Guy has some emotion under that placid expression.

"Then it's fine," I say. The elevator stops again, this time on my floor. "This is my stop. See you in the arena."

Inside, Maia tells me that my interview was "passable", but that my training score will make up for it. She has nothing but praise for Lief. I don't let it get to me.

Johanna and Blight sit us down. "You can handle the bloodbath," Blight says, throwing down some pills and swallowing them dry. "Get in there and grab whatever weapons you can use."

"If you can take out a Career by accident, do it," Johanna says. "Don't let yourself get attached to them. They're a means to an end. Nothing more. Kill them as soon as they're no longer useful to you."

Lief nods, then stomps hard on my foot. I nod, too.

Maia thanks us for everything (what, exactly, have we done to deserve her thanks?) and wishes us good luck, adding that she wants to see one of us wearing the victor's crown. Then she leaves. Tomorrow, while the stylists are preparing to launch Lief and I into the arena, Maia, Johanna, and Blight will be at the Games Headquarters, setting up sponsors for the two of us. There's no goodbye with Johanna and Blight. I get the idea that they never get too attached to their tributes. We're just a job. A horrible, soul-destroying job that they can't resign from.

"Hey," I say to Johanna. "Thanks."

"Do what you need to do, loveless," Johanna says. "See you in the next life."

_Thanks, Johanna_. She obviously thinks I'm going to die. Whatever my mission is, she thinks I won't succeed, and she thinks she'll be sending my street-rat corpse back to District Seven to be buried in a pauper's grave. She's probably thrilled that there won't be any grieving parents to console.

Lief opts to stay awake, but I know how badly my senses get scrambled when I'm tired, so I head for my room. I pull off the heels and put the dress on a hanger, knowing that Elisheba would gut me if I let it get crumpled. I take off the mask last. Then I go into the bathroom and scrub the airbrush and makeup off my skin. The nail polish isn't going anywhere.

I hunt through the medicine cabinet beside the mirror, coming up with mostly headache cures, and finally come across a single sleeping pill. Of course they'd only give us one. The Capitol doesn't want one of their precious tributes overdosing. I pull the pill out of its packet and swallow it, praying that Valentine will leave me alone tonight. As much as he wants me to join him, I don't think he'd go so far as to actually try to get me killed.

Lief would laugh his head off if he knew about Valentine haunting me. I've been careful not to think about it when he's around. While northerners believe that the dead still exist in some form, we think that they stay in their world, a wondrous land separate from our own. The idea that one of the dead would leave their world to follow one of the living is laughable. Absurd. Abnormal.

Then again, Valentine and I haven't ever been normal.

I lie down on top of the sheets, hands laced behind my head, and let my eyes fall shut.


	9. Morning Light

A/N: First of all, a big thank you to HermioneandMarcus for being my most faithful reviewer. Second of all, a belated thank you to all the people who have added me to story alert, favorite story, or any such lists. I really appreciate it.

In this chapter, we finally come to the arena! For this chapter especially I would love to have people review. I'd like to know what you think of my take on the arena! Please...?

Okay, sad begging moment over. Onward with the story.

* * *

I'm woken up by Elisheba, who's poking me with a broom handle from a safe distance. "Up, Spirit. It's time."

"Gah?" I manage. Maybe that sleeping pill wasn't such a good idea - I'm awfully groggy. I'd better wake myself up a little between now and the arena.

"It's time," Elisheba repeats. "We need to go."

I'm still in my underwear when she drags me up to the roof and a waiting hovercraft. When I place a hand on the ladder, my whole body freezes, and while I could probably break the freeze by changing shape, I don't. Even when a doctor sticks a needle into my arm, inserting a bead under my skin.

"What's that for?" I ask the doctor, but he's already vanished into the recesses of the hovercraft.

"It's a tracker," Elisheba explains. "So they always know where you are when you're in the arena."

"Does it come out?"

"It deactivates if you die," Elisheba says. "I understand that, in the victor's case, they short it out with an electrical charge. Come here, Spirit. Sit down and have something to eat."

Have something to eat? My stomach is tied up into so many knots that I'm not sure I could even get anything down my throat, but I know that when I'm in the arena, food will be scarce. I'll have food for a while with the Careers, but eventually Katniss will blow up the food pile and I'll be on my own. So I've been packing it down whenever I get the chance. I take a muffin off the proffered tray and take little bites of it, all the while pacing around the room.

Elisheba has the good sense not to bother me with questions or reassurances. She's been through this about thirty-eight times, and in all those years, she's had exactly two winning tributes. I wonder how Johanna and Blight felt while they were waiting to be dropped into the arena. Nervous? Resigned? Or, like me, determined to come back out?

After awhile, the windows black out, but I hardly notice. Seven steps wide, twelve steps long. Those are the dimensions of the room. District Seven, District Twelve. Those will be the allegiances of the victors. Seven. Twelve. Seven. Twelve. I repeat those numbers over and over again until the hovercraft lands.

Peacekeepers surround me and Elisheba, marching us down gray hallways and into a room. It's labeled 'Launch Room'. In the districts, they call the launch rooms 'Stockyards', yet another way of distinguishing themselves from the Capitol. I've always thought that was a bit stupid, all their ways of separating themselves from their rulers. In the end, they're the same. A Peacekeeper from District Two will shoot me in the head the same as one from the Capitol, so how different are they?

There are clothes laid out for me. Green blouse, dark green pants, brown belt and boots, black jacket. I put them on, tying up the blouse in the front, lacing the boots, waving Elisheba away when she tries to help me. I'm going to do this on my own. If I die in the arena, I want my stylist to remember me as being independent. Unafraid.

"I have something for you," Elisheba says when I'm dressed.

"What is it?"

She hands me back my ring. During prep it was taken away and I figured it was gone. I would have been more upset about it, except I had bigger things to worry about.

"The review board couldn't find anything wrong with it," Elisheba says. "But I had a hard time getting it back. Antiques are all the rage this year."

I should be appalled that the Capitol would steal from the tributes, but nothing about these people surprises me after what I've already seen. "Thank you," I tell Elisheba. "It's been in my family for generations. I would've missed it."

"I know," Elisheba says quietly.

Is that a hint of regret I sense? It must be faked; Elisheba's been doing this long enough to know better than to get attached to her tributes. Still, maybe she's taken a shine to me.

"Are we all wearing the same thing in there?" I ask, trying to diffuse the awkward moment.

Elisheba nods. "Not knowing which tributes are which adds to the excitement during the bloodbath. I hope you know your allies by sight."

That contradicts Johanna's suggestion to take out a Career during the bloodbath. I think I'll be following Elisheba's advice, even though the idea of "accidentally" killing Glimmer is tempting. I nod to show that I understand and sit down on the couch, running through the sequence of events that will occur, the tributes who will die in the moments after the gong sounds. At least one tribute must die at my hand; I have to show the Careers that Lief and I will be useful allies, and Lief can't be trusted to kill anyone. I learned that from experience.

Of course, Lief and I might die today. I've sort of adopted the Career attitude toward it, which is basically "if you don't think about it, it won't happen", but I'm not in total denial. One or both of us could be killed, and while that would be a disaster from my point of view, it would mean that Panem would remain on the path that Abbess saw.

"Attempting to control the future is dangerous," Abbess told me the day Lief and I were dropped into Panem. "This could result in both of your deaths."

I'd laughed, then taken the leap out of the stolen hovercraft to begin my infiltration. I'm not afraid of dying. I can't be and still go on. I've had a foot on the other side for years, the specter of radiation sickness lurking in my blood, and now Valentine waiting on the other side for me to join him. He must be lonely over there - the other dead ones will hate him for his betrayal of our people.

I wonder what he thinks of this crazy plan.

"Are you nervous?" Elisheba asks.

"Not really." It's true. I don't feel nervousness, only calm. I've accepted what may or may not happen in a few minutes, and even though I'd prefer to stay alive, obsessing over my possible death would be pointless. In fact, the only feeling I'm conscious of is impatience. "I just wish they'd get on with it, you know?"

"All tributes prepare for launch," a voice says, echoing around the cold, empty room.

I smile slightly. "Guess I got my wish."

I get up and walk to the metal plate that will bear me up into the arena, an arena I've imagined every inch of in the hopes of giving myself some slight advantage. There's nothing I can do to help myself now. _Just breathe_, I tell myself. Just breathe and pray.

Elisheba faces me. "It was an honor to be your stylist, Spirit."

"Goodbye to you, too, Elisheba," I say.

"Spirit…" Elisheba looks uncomfortable. Then she says, "You're the strongest tribute I've ever seen out of District Seven. You have a chance. I hope I will see you after the Games."

"Start designing my dress for the closing interview," I tell her. "I won't be coming out in a box."

A glass tube rises out of the floor, surrounding me, and the plate lifts. Elisheba and the launch room both vanish in a matter of seconds, and then I'm rising out of the ground into a field filled with short green grass. Off to my right, there's a drop-off of some sort; on the right, pine forests. As I crane my neck, I see the lake behind me. And straight ahead, the Cornucopia shimmers in the bright sunlight.

"Ladies and gentleman," a voice booms out. Claudius Templesmith, the announcer. "Let the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games begin!"

I scan the tributes, picking out Marvel a few plates to my right, Clove almost out of my vision on my left. Glimmer, Cato, and Lief are on the other side, hidden by the Cornucopia. Checking out the weapons in the Cornucopia, I spot knives, swords, spears, and the occasional war hammer - but no axes. Dammit! It figures that they wouldn't include the weapon I've trained with! There are hammers, though. I'll have to make do.

Right next to me is Thresh, from District Eleven. Once the gong sounds, I'm going to have to get clear of him fast; I wouldn't face someone his size weaponless if you paid me. On my other side is the boy from District Eight, who, in both training and interview, came across as a complete and total lunatic. What Abbess would call a psychopath. Just my luck to end up sandwiched between two of the most dangerous tributes in the Games.

In the north, we believe that the dead watch over us from their land, protecting us in times of need. We pray to them when we require help. But I have no beloved dead. My parents were gone before I was old enough to remember their faces, let alone love them. And Valentine, the only other person I loved, is dead by my hand. Still, he's all I have.

_Valentine_, I say. _Look what you got to miss. See what's about to happen. Watch over me_.

Then it occurs to me that Valentine doesn't want me to survive. He's come right out and said it, too. He wants me dead. With him.

"Well, V," I say out loud, "you might just get your wish."

The gong sounds.

At the noise, I bolt, cannoning out from between Thresh and the boy from District Eight and making for the Cornucopia at full speed. A lot of this plan depends on me getting to the Cornucopia and the supplies without getting caught. While I'm good at hand-to-hand combat, I'm not good enough to free myself if someone like Thresh catches me from behind. Shape-changing to protect myself is a last resort - so risky that I might not even attempt it to save my own life. The secrecy of our plan is too important to be compromised for my survival.

I get to the Cornucopia ahead of everyone and I scramble through the piles of goods, searching for a war hammer, a knife, anything to defend myself against the tributes who are surely converging on me.

The sound of pounding feet alerts me that I will shortly be under attack. I whip around and find two people running toward me; Cato, and the boy from District Eight. Cato is slightly ahead of the other one, but that's not necessarily a good thing. I was watching the boy from Eight during training, and I noticed that he particularly liked a move he learned at the hand-to-hand combat station - a move where you grab your opponent from behind and break their neck. And I know, I just know, he's about to try it on Cato.

I grab the first weapon I see - a war hammer - and hurl it straight at the boy from Eight. It misses Cato by inches and hits its target full in the face. For a second it doesn't make sense, the way his face immediately crumples, the blood that spurts from his noise, how he collapses. Then I realize that I must've thrown the hammer hard enough to force his nose into his brain. He's dead.

_I killed him_, I think, staring at the body. _I -_

My thoughts are cut off as Cato plows into me. I stumble backwards, off-balance, and Cato grabs me, pinning me back against the Cornucopia with an arm across my throat.

"What the hell was that?" he snarls into my face, increasing the pressure against my windpipe.

I meet his angry gaze. If he's going to kill me, he'd better do it fast. There's a dead man waiting for me on the other side.

"Answer the question!" Cato yells. "We're supposed to be allies, and you just tried to kill me!"

Oh, so that's the problem? "Behind you," I manage in a low hiss. The arm flattening my esophagus won't allow for anything more.

Cato looks over his shoulder, sees the corpse lying in the grass with my war hammer still embedded in its forehead, and understanding crosses his features. "You saved my life," he says.

I shove at his arm, struggling to breathe. Cato drops me and I fall to my knees, massaging my throat and gasping for breath. After a moment, I try to sit up, but Cato pushes me back into the grass. "Spirit, stay down!"

I hear the whistle of a flying weapon and look up to see the girl from Six collapse, a sword in her chest.

"How bad do you need that hammer, District Seven?" Cato asks.

"There are others," I say, crawling to the side and pulling the other three war hammers out of the pile. I take a knife, too, but leave the others for Clove. She's only just reaching the Cornucopia, having gotten sidetracked freeing Lief from the clutches of one of the giants, the boy from Six. I owe her for that one. We're maybe three minutes into the Games and the bodies are already piling up.

Clove launches herself up the pile of supplies, scoops up an armful of knives, and takes off again.

"Where are you going?" Lief yells after her.

"Getting District Twelve!"

Lief looks at me, panicked, and I shake my head. This is nothing to worry about. Katniss is almost at the edge of the woods, and better yet, she knows that Clove is after her. She'll be fine.

Cato pulls me to my feet. "There's the boy from Four. Let's get him."

And then I'm off and running, into yet another bloody battle. The girl from Four tries to come to the boy's aid and I end up smashing in her chest as she attempts to stab Cato in the back. Thresh veers toward us and I almost throw a hammer at him as a sort of warning shot, but then I realize that one of the hammers in his massive hands would be deadly, and I let Cato scare him off. I don't think it actually works, but in any case, Thresh is gone, hurdling over the drop-off into whatever lies beyond, leaving the bloodbath to the Careers.

The smart tributes have already run, bolting for the woods. The Careers let them go, probably figuring that they can hunt them down later, and instead focus their attention on the tributes foolish enough to think they can survive the bloodbath. We've paired off to hunt; Glimmer and Marvel together, Lief and Clove, Cato and I.

The boy from Three is a fast runner, and sprinting isn't exactly Cato's thing, so I end up doing sort of a flying tackle from ten feet to bring him down. He lands a hit on my hip, and he must have a rock or something in his hand, because it hurts like hell. I pin him and he screams, "I can help you! I can help you! Please don't kill me!"

I lower my war hammer. "What can you do?"

Cato, who seems willing to let me have the kill, comes closer. "Don't waste time, Spirit, just get rid of him."

"I can protect the food," the boy gasps.

"How?"

"The land mines. Around the starting plates," the boy manages. "If you dig them up, I can reactivate them. Set them up around the food."

Cato looks intrigued. "Will that work?"

"I can't see why not," I say.

"We'll keep him alive for now," Cato decides. "Come on, Spirit, let's take him back to the Cornucopia. Good call."

Holding the boy from District Three at knifepoint, I begin the walk back to the Cornucopia. "Thanks," he whispers to me.

"Don't thank me," I tell him. Ironically, by not killing him here, I've set him on the path to his death, and I don't want to talk to him.

"What the hell?" Cato says, and for one terrifying moment, I think he's heard what I said. Then I realize that he's pointing at the Cornucopia. Peeta Mellark is atop the pile of supplies, a knife in hand, and Lief, Clove, Glimmer, and Marvel are circling the whole mess like a pack of ice wolves.

"I want to join the alliance," Peeta states as soon as Cato is within earshot. He must have made the assumption that Cato is in charge of the Career pack, and he's right. Even though nobody's come out and said it, Cato is the one calling the shots.

"So?" Cato says.

"So I can help you," Peeta says. "I'm strong. I can fight."

"District Seven can fight," Cato says, pointing at me. "And she got a better training score. Why would we need you?"

"Hey, maybe he knows something about that girl from his district," Lief says in an undertone, too quietly for Peeta to hear. "He might know how to find her."

Lief's jumped into the discussion on Peeta's side, and I send a silent thank-you his way. Since I'd already saved the boy from District Three, I'm not sure Cato would have listened if I suggested we bring another non-Career on board.

"That's something," Clove adds. "I think Lief is right. Let's keep him."

We all look at Cato for a decision. Cato studies Peeta, then looks back at us, then Peeta again. "All right, Lover Boy," Cato says. "You're in. Now start digging up those land mines."

Glimmer doesn't want to dirty her hands getting the land mines, so she goes to take a bath in the lake. Marvel goes along, ostensibly to stand guard, and Peeta, Lief, Clove and I get to work digging the mines up. Peeta gets the first one, and all work stops when he brings it to the boy from District Three. We all watch as he tinkers with the mine, opening up a panel on the side, crossing some wires and severing others. Then he hands it to Cato - or tries to, because Cato backs away.

"Oh, no. I'm not falling for that," he says. "You really think I'm that stupid?"

"It's not active. Yet," the boy from District Three says. "We need to test it."

"Why not just throw it in the lake?" I suggest. "Then we can see if it works and give Glimmer a big scare at the same time."

Cato snickers. "Good idea."

We creep through the woods to the lake, and Cato tosses the mine into the lake. The boy from Three fiddles with some leftover wires, twists three of them together, and then does something I can't quite see. There's a colossal bang and a geyser shoots out of the lake, crashing back down with vicious force, sending waves rippling out across the water.

Glimmer lets out a shriek and comes tearing out of the water. "What the hell was that?"

"Good news," I tell her. "The land mines work."

Cato laughs.

It takes almost until nightfall to set up the supply pyramid and drape the net over it, to dig the holes for the mines, for the boy from District Three to build a proper deactivation device. Everybody's giddy, because we've gotten through the bloodbath and we have the food and we feel invincible. Even the boy from Three is caught up in it all.

Then the anthem plays, and the seal of Panem appears in the sky.

"Who's dead?" Lief says. "Do we know?"

"The girl from my district," the boy from District Three says. "Thresh got her."

"Both from four," I say. "Both from Six. The boy from Eight."

"Yeah, he was the first kill of the Games," Cato comments. He doesn't mention that I killed the boy from District Eight while saving his life.

The pictures begin to appear; the girl from Three, both from Four, the boy from Five, both from Six, the boy from Eight, both from Nine, the girl from Ten. Ten tributes dead in all. Fourteen left.

"I hope you all got some good sleep last night," Cato says. "Because we're going hunting."


	10. Seven Deadly Sins

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed this chapter! bigtimecrazy123, UnseenWonders, BreeBree12345, and NeonsLover, I really appreciate your words of encouragement. Sorry that this update is coming a little later in the day than usual; my internet connection is acting up.

I would love to hear what you all think about this chapter. Review or PM, please! And also, if anyone has ideas about what picture I should use for the cover on this story, tell me. Thank you and please enjoy chapter 10.

* * *

Marvel leads the pack, spear in hand, barging through the undergrowth with the grace and silence of a frightened herd of caribou. Cato comes next, with Glimmer stuck to him like glue, clinging to his arm. I can tell it makes him uncomfortable to have one arm effectively immobilized, but he doesn't tell her to get off, so maybe he likes it. Lief and Clove walk side by side, knives in hand. Behind them, Peeta, District Three, and I fan awkwardly out. Since I'm going against the set path just by being alive at this point, I don't turn my back on any of them.

Cato turns back to face me, trailing Glimmer after him like a hooked fish. "Hey, Spirit, come up here."

I walk forward, curling my fist tighter around my war hammer. I'm not sensing trouble - if they were planning to attack me, Lief would know and have given me a heads-up - but I'm still not sold on the plan of waiting for the tracker jackers to kill Glimmer. She gets by on looks, District One status, and the protection of more powerful people. She's a parasite. And I loathe parasites.

"What?"

"If you were a tribute hiding in the woods," Cato says to me, "what would you be doing?"

"And you're asking me this why?" This is a weird question. It's almost as if he knows that I'm a step ahead of him. Then I dismiss the idea. There's no way Cato could know that I have advance knowledge of the Games. I've done nothing to tip my hand, and as far as I know, neither has Lief. The secret is safe. So then why?

Cato looks at me like I've just asked him why the sky is blue. "Because you're smart. So? What would you be doing?"

"Well," I say slowly, "I'd have cleared out of the Cornucopia fast, gotten as far away as possible, and then found a good place to hole up. But it's cold now. If they aren't tough, they'll be building fires. And that's how we'll find them. I can climb a tree and look, if you -"

"I'll do it," Glimmer interrupts. I stare at her, and so does everyone else. Glimmer is the worst climber out of all of us. Why is she volunteering for a job that I could do much better?

"No," Cato says. "Spirit, go ahead."

I walk past several trees before finally selecting a red cedar and beginning to carefully pick my way up. Red cedars grow tall, but their branches are spindly, and falling to my death from fifty feet up is not how I want to go. I can't even imagine the terror of plummeting straight down into oblivion.

Then again, I'm unlikely ever to face that situation. I could always morph out some wings to stop my fall.

"You seeing anything?" Cato calls up from the ground.

The tree is swaying back and forth in the wind. I'm aware that there wasn't wind a few seconds ago, and I wish the Gamemakers would stop trying to crank up the excitement. I cling to the trunk like a monkey and scan the darkness for points of light, but all I'm seeing are the flashlights and torches from the Careers on the ground. "Douse the lights, guys," I say. "I can't see."

The Careers grumble, nervous about giving over to the darkness. But Cato takes my side. "You heard her," he says. "Lights out."

One by one, the flashlights flicker off. There's some rustling around from the ground and then a squeal of fright.

"Glimmer. Seriously. _Let go_," Cato says. "Is that better, Spirit?"

"Yeah."

I wait for the spots to clear from my vision, then return to searching the night. This time I can make out a fire, glowing on the lower left slope of the valley. I lower my voice and call down to the others. "Keep it quiet down there. I've got one."

I give them the location of the unlucky tribute. Cato sends the others after the fire-starter, but he stays, shivering beneath the tree. It's unlike him to give up the chance to make a kill. It makes me nervous in more ways than one.

_Lief_, I say, _is he going to kill me?_

_No, he just wants to make sure you get out of your tree all right_, Lief says. _Sheesh, Spirit, Cato is the last one you should be suspecting. If I were you, I'd keep one eye on Glimmer and the other on Marvel. They don't like you_.

_I don't like them either_, I say. _So we're good_.

I begin the long climb downward. Climbing up has never been an issue for me; it's getting back down from whatever height I've reached that really scares me. According to Lief, that means I'm the kind of person who doesn't look before they leap. It means that I don't think ahead. I tell him to take his analyzing and stuff it somewhere painful.

"You all right?" Cato asks.

"Fine," I say. "Don't talk to me. I have to concentrate."

Even as I'm saying this, I place my foot too far out on a slender branch and it snaps beneath my foot. Luckily, I hadn't put too much weight on it, so I'm able to snatch my foot back and keep myself from falling.

Twenty feet from the ground, my luck runs out. The branch that breaks is thick and healthy, and it doesn't give out until all of my weight is on it. The sudden drop rips my hands off the branch I was holding and I plunge downward, with no time to morph out wings or do anything to prevent myself from hitting the ground. All I can do is pray that I land on something soft.

Rather than the ground - or a bush, which is what I was hoping for - I land on something warm and definitely alive that goes "Oof!" when I hit it. There's a second, smaller drop, and then I can feel the earth beneath my knees. I feel around on the ground and come across someone's hand.

"Cato?"

"Spirit," Cato says. The hand grips mine. "Are you all right?"

The adrenaline rush I felt when the branch snapped isn't fading. "I - the branch - I couldn't -"

"I tried to catch you," Cato says.

"You caught me," I manage. "It would have been bad if you hadn't."

A flashlight flickers on and Cato aims the beam at me. "Are you sure you're not hurt?"

I smashed my elbow on the tree's trunk. My hip, already sore from getting hit during the bloodbath, is aching from the landing. And the hand Cato's not holding is wet with blood. I pull my hand out of his - he needs to stop holding it, _now _- and take the flashlight, pointing it down at the wound.

Cato swears. "That looks bad."

It does. Most of the skin was scraped off of the palm of my left hand, and I can see bark bits inside the injury. There's something pointy sticking out of it; when I grab it and pull, a piece of bark about an inch long comes free, covered in blood.

I attempt a smile. "I've had worse."

This is bad news. My right hand is my strong hand, and to have it damaged this early in the Games is a nightmare come true. It hurts even to move it right now, and unless I can learn to wield a hammer with my left hand in record time, my ability to defend myself has just gotten wrecked.

We sit there, neither of us moving, until a loud noise from the bushes makes us both jump. "What was that?"

I turn the flashlight in the direction the noise came from and see a flash of silver fabric. A parachute. Someone's sent one of us a sponsor gift. Cato retrieves the parachute and opens it. Then he hands it to me. "It's for you."

Inside the package is a med kit. Antibacterial creams, bandages, a full complement of syringes with antibiotics, fever pills. I lift out a tube of something with a note attached.

"Use this one on your hand," I read aloud. "Nice job, loveless. I thought you said you could climb!"

Cato looks at me quizzically. "Who's loveless?"

"That's what my mentor calls me."

"Ouch."

"Nah, she's all right," I say. I put some of the cream on my hand and the pain fades almost instantly. Then I wrap it in bandages, put the tube back in the med kit, and stuff the whole thing into my backpack. "Come on, let's go. We don't want to miss the fun."

Cato and I set off through the woods toward the fire starter. By the time we get there, Marvel is working on the girl from District Eight with one of Clove's knives, blood all over his hands. At this point, the victim is unrecognizable but still begging for mercy. I wish Marvel would stop dragging it out and just let her die.

"Eleven down and thirteen to go!" Marvel says, and the others cheer in response. I join in, trying not to let myself hate him. His whole life has been geared toward these Games; this is all he knows. But even when I tell myself this, I still find that I despise him.

_It's funny that you think that way about Marvel but not Cato_, Lief says.

_What are you implying? _I say icily.

_Nothing. Just saying that it's funny_.

As a group, we move away from the body, waiting for the hovercraft to come collect it, but after five minutes there's still no cannon. Finally, I break the silence. "Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?"

"I'd say yes," Cato says. "Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately. Unless she's not dead."

"She's dead," Marvel says. "I stuck her myself."

"Then where's the cannon?" Lief chimes in.

"Someone should go back. Make sure the job's done." This is Clove, coming down firmly on Lief's side of things.

"Yeah, we don't want to have to track her down twice," Lief says.

"I said she's dead!" Marvel explodes. I decide that now might be a good time to back myself out of the argument - Marvel would probably love any excuse to blow up at me - and instead I find myself staring into the dark branches of a towering oak tree. I see something shiny about thirty feet up, something gold flickering in the light from our flashlights. There's only one person besides me in the Games with a gold token. Which means that Katniss Everdeen is up that tree.

I flick the beam from my flashlight across the branches, and for a second, the frightened face of the girl on fire is visible. I lock eyes with her. _I see you_.

Then I look back to my group, because the argument has almost escalated to a fistfight, Marvel and Lief right in each other's faces, yelling insults at each other.

Peeta shoves in between them. "We're wasting time. I'll go finish her and let's move on!"

I can just imagine the shock on Katniss Everdeen's face as she realizes that Peeta is with us, and I fervently hope that the cameras aren't as sharp-eyed as I am.

"Go on, Lover Boy," Cato says. "See for yourself."

Peeta clomps back into the woods, knife drawn, and the rest of us watch him go. Then, when he's out of earshot, Glimmer says, "Why don't we just kill him now and get it over with?"

"Let him tag along," Lief says. "What's the harm? And he's handy with that knife."

"Besides," Clove says, "he's our best chance of finding her."

Her being Katniss Everdeen, of course. The Gamemakers are probably jumping for joy at this point; there hasn't been this much drama in the Hunger Games since Johanna knifed the boy who was protecting her in the back.

"Why? You think she bought into that sappy romance stuff?" Cato says.

Marvel spits on the ground. "She might have. Seemed pretty simpleminded to me. Every time I think of her spinning around in that dress, I want to puke."

"Wish we knew how she got that eleven," Cato mutters. It's obvious that the fact that she beat him in training scores is a sore spot for him. I wonder why - Clove, Thresh, and I all tied him and it didn't drive him up the wall.

"No idea," I say with a shrug. "But I'll bet you anything Lover Boy knows."

Peeta comes back, alerting us to his presence by tripping over a root and banging into a tree trunk. Glimmer lets out a little shriek and searches for someone to latch onto, but since she's bracketed by Clove and I, she abandons it.

"Was she dead?" Cato asks, almost as a challenge.

"No. But she is now," Peeta says. Immediately after he finishes speaking, the cannon fires. "Ready to move on?"

_I don't get it, Spirit,_ Lief says as we set off at a light run through the trees.

_Get what?_

_Why killing is so easy for all of you. You and Cato, sure, but Peeta? If he can do it, why can't I?_

_It's not easy. Not for me_, I say. _But_ _it only matters if I let it. Maybe it's because you can read their minds. You know exactly how scared they are_.

_Yeah, but the rest of you can imagine, can't you? With the exception of Marvel, you aren't psychopaths_.

_I don't know about the others_, I say finally, _but I try not to think about it too much_.

I killed my first Peacekeeper when I was thirteen. And to be honest, I wasn't thinking about how he was feeling at all. I can't imagine what it would be like to know that your death is approaching, minute by minute, second by second. The knowledge that radiation sickness lurks in my shadow isn't quite the same as dying at the hand of someone like Marvel, only a few years older than you.

I used to keep track of the people I've killed, on a notch stick that I kept in my room. I was up to maybe twenty. Then the Peacekeepers torched our settlement, our Sanctuary, acting on Valentine's information, and I lost count.

I wonder what it says about me that I don't even care anymore.


	11. Run

A/N: Thanks to bigtimecrazy123 (your feedback was great!) and HermioneandMarcus (thanks for the encouragement) for reviewing, and thank you to everyone who added me to various and sundry alerts and favorites. Also, a small favor; if anyone knows of a beta reader who would be interested in working on this story, please let me know - and review! I love reviews. Okay. Chapter eleven ready to go.

* * *

I've been awake for at least forty-eight hours. The sleeping pill on interview night seems like a million years ago, but the Careers are still going strong, intent on hunting down more tributes before finally taking a break. They want to rack up kills, impress the sponsors. Me, I'm not to worried about that. I have two kills to my name, and for a female not from one of the Career districts, that's enough to keep people cheering for me - and to keep sponsors sending me gifts. I'm the only one out of the pack who's received a gift so far, and it was a good one; the injury on my hand is already healed.

The people in the Capitol may like me, but I'm not sure that the Gamemakers number among my fans. The branch that caused my fall last night was healthy and strong; my foot was placed close to the trunk; and I know for a fact that I used that particular branch for both a handhold and a foothold on my way up. I'm dead certain that the branch was a trap rigged by the Gamemakers, but it's a bit early for them to be killing off tributes. They usually wait until things get boring, and between the bloodbath yesterday and the killing of the girl from District Eight last night, things aren't anywhere near boring yet. So why did the Gamemakers try to kill me?

Then it occurs to me that the activation of the trap may not have been about me at all.

The Gamemakers were watching the training sessions, and they probably had cameras in the dining room and the lobby as well. They know that Cato and I have some sort of tentative friendship going, and they wanted to test it by seeing what he would do if my life were in danger. The Gamemakers were fostering drama - got to keep things exciting for the audience - and while the event somewhat clarified things for me and definitely got me a sponsor gift, I really wish it hadn't been my life on the line.

Then again, it wouldn't have worked the other way around. I've already saved Cato once.

Something slams into me and I stagger, falling flat on my back. Lost in my thoughts, I somehow managed to walk straight into a tree, a lapse in concentration that I can't afford to have happen again. While my alliance with Clove and Cato is solid, the boy from District Three owes me his life, and I've given Peeta no reason to dislike me, the tributes from District One probably wouldn't hesitate to take me out if they had the chance.

Glimmer snickers. "Nice going, Spirit."

Ah. Point proven.

"Shut up, Glimmer, you did the same thing an hour ago," Cato says. "This is getting pointless. We need to rest."

"No, we need to make more kills," Marvel argues. He's got a lock on the title of most bloodthirsty, and he seems to possess boundless energy.

"We've found everyone we're going to find," Cato says. "I can barely keep my eyes open. We're stopping. Let's find somewhere to sleep."

"It's the middle of the day!" Peeta objects.

"I said we're stopping," Cato snaps. "You going to tell me you're not tired?"

"Hey, guys, I think I found something," I say, getting on my knees and indicating the hollow. Obscured as it is by bushes, it's only visible from ground level. If I hadn't taken that fall, I wouldn't have found it. "No one will be able to see us if we're in there."

At first the Careers, especially Marvel, are reluctant, mumbling about how no one would dare to hunt us down. Then Peeta reminds them about Thresh, who we've seen neither hide nor hair of since the bloodbath, and they scramble into the hollow in a hurry. It's a tight fit for eight people; no matter how you contort yourself, you're always putting your feet in somebody's face. I'm the last one to crawl through the bushes, and I find what seems to be an empty spot, but when I put my head down, it lands on someone's abdomen. I stay still, hoping it's Lief - he's used to things like this.

"Who's that?" Cato says. "What are you doing?"

Dammit. "It's Spirit," I say. "I'm sorry, I'll move -"

"Move where?" Lief says crossly from somewhere by my knee. So that's where he is. "This is my space!"

"Nah, it's fine," Cato says. Then he adds in an undertone, "I thought you were Glimmer."

"Oh. No. No worries," I mumble, and decide there and then that I'm not going to move for the rest of the night, even if it kills me. I'm a restless sleeper, and who knows where I could end up if I start flailing around. But it's hard for me to fall asleep just lying still, and as a result, I'm awake when the noise starts.

It's like a cross between a chain saw and somebody strangling a goose. "What the hell is that?" Cato says.

"Who's making that noise?" Lief adds. Apparently I'm not the only one with insomnia.

"It's Marvel," Peeta says from somewhere on the other side of the hollow. "He's snoring."

"How do you know?"

"Because I'm stuck between him and Glimmer," Peeta says. I feel Cato wince.

"Sorry, Peeta," I say. "Bad luck."

"Stop _talking_," Lief says. "We didn't stop so you all could have a pleasant chat. Go to sleep!"

I take advantage of the moment to readjust my position, getting more comfortable - or as comfortable as I can get when sleeping in what amounts to a cuddle puddle of some of my greatest enemies in the Games. _It's a good thing no one can move_, I find myself thinking. _Otherwise we'd all try to kill each other in our sleep_.

* * *

When I wake up, I can tell something is wrong right away, but I'm not sure what it is. No one is dead. Nobody is bleeding. We're all alive and unhurt. I'm still using Cato as a pillow and I haven't migrated anywhere awkward overnight. Nothing has visibly changed, but still, something is off. I don't figure out what it is until I yawn and inhale a deep breath of air.

The acrid tang of smoke scrapes my throat, and through a gap in the bushes, I make out the warning orange glow of flames. I sit up so fast that I hit my head on the bushes and yell, "Fire!"

Cato sits up, almost chinning himself on my shoulder. "What?"

I point. Cato repeats my warning at a much louder volume while I kick Lief awake. Lief in turn whacks the boy from District Three in the stomach and kicks Marvel awake. Marvel sits up with a roar and accidentally drives his arm into Peeta's stomach, and Peeta's retaliatory strike hits Glimmer, who steps on Clove as she makes for the exit.

It's a panicked, scrambling exit, and because I refuse to trample Lief on the way out, I'm the last one out of the hollow, throwing myself at the opening and bolting through the woods. Every time I chance a look back, the flames seem to be catching up, and for one terrible moment, I think I see Valentine in the flames, his arms outstretched.

_I'm waiting_.

I come to a stop, staring at him, almost hypnotized. I can feel the heat of the flames on my back.

"Spirit, move!" Cato grabs my arm and drags me down a game trail. Even in the midst of my panic, I can't help but admire how smart he is. Game trails always lead to water. The guy at the disorientation training mentioned it exactly once, while he was nailing us into barrels, and somehow Cato remembered it.

The game trail ends at a stream and Cato pulls me into the water. "Where are the others?" I gasp. My throat feels raw, and I'm guessing it's the smoke.

"Don't know," Cato says. He's doubled over, coughing. "We gotta keep moving, Spirit."

We wade downstream. Ducking into the water when the flames get too close. Moving as fast as we can, yelling the others' names in between the coughing fits. I call out for Lief, but either he can't hear me or he's concentrating on something else. Like surviving the flames.

The stream eventually feeds into the lake, and by the time we reach it, Cato and I are soaking wet and exhausted - and we still don't know if any of the others have survived.

"We'd have heard a cannon if they're dead," I rationalize. "Wouldn't we?"

"Look on the bright side, District Seven," Cato rasps. I notice he's stopped calling me Spirit "If they're dead, you're that much closer to winning."

I ignore him. If Lief is dead, it doesn't matter if I win or not. This mission is too difficult for one person to accomplish on her own. "Let's try the camp. Maybe some of them made it back there."

We wait for an hour. Two hours. Three. I find a blackberry bush and strip it, letting the sweetness soothe my aching throat. Cato doesn't ask me for some of the berries or even where the bush is; he just sits there, and eventually I bring him some berries, too. I think the possible wreckage of his plans for these Games has temporarily short-circuited him, and again I'm reminded of the one great weakness of the Career pack. They rely on a formula. To give them some credit, the formula works most of the time, but when it doesn't, they're lost.

I guess that's why they keep people like me around.

We're well into the afternoon when a smoke-blackened figure appears out of the woods. Cato grabs for his sword and seems like he's about to charge, but a coughing fit derails his attack plan. I put a hand on my hammer, but I don't think I'm going to need it. I'd recognize that shaggy haircut anywhere.

"Power down, Cato," I say. "It's just Lief."

The figure staggers toward us, opens its mouth to say something, then doubles over coughing. I take the initiative, because he sure isn't going to get out whatever it is on his own. "Lief, where are the others?"

His answer is pretty garbled. I only make out three words; "tree", "injured", and "Katniss". That's enough for Cato, though, and he's off and running into the woods. I chase after him, hoping he won't have a heart attack or respiratory failure, leaving Lief to trail behind me, coughing and gagging.

_Lief, what the hell happened to you guys? _I say. _It's been hours!_

_We had to go around the fire and stupid Marvel got us lost_, Lief says. _Then we found Katniss - she got burned pretty bad - and we treed her. Except we don't know what to do now that we've got her. You and Cato seem to be the brains of this outfit_.

_Funny. Where is she again?_

Lief sends me the location. "Cato," I yell, because he's taken off toward the valley instead of the forest, "you're going the wrong way!"

He comes tearing out of the brush, panting, sword in hand. I point him in the right direction and he starts running again. I catch up to him just as he reaches the other Careers, and Lief comes wheezing in behind us moments later.

"I can't believe we got her!" Marvel, despite the fact that his brown hair is gray with ash, is positively giddy. "We got District Twelve!"

Peeta is doing a good job of not looking terrified for Katniss. "I don't know," he says doubtfully. "She's pretty high up."

"Don't worry," Cato says. "We can get her."

_Who's we? _I wonder. I know next to nothing about trees, but I can tell you for a fact that there's no way some of those branches will take Cato's weight. Or any of ours, for that matter. Clove and I are the smallest, but Katniss is still at least forty pounds lighter than we are. Unless I'm mistaken - and I don't think I am - we're stuck.

"How's everything with you?" Katniss calls down to us.

"Well enough," Cato says. "Yourself?"

"It's been a bit warm for my taste," Katniss says. "The air's better up here. Why don't you come on up?"

"Think I will," Cato says.

"No," I hiss. "She's playing with you. There's no way you're going to make it -"

"Here, take this, Cato," Glimmer says, interrupting me, and she tries to hand Cato the bow and arrows. My view of Katniss Everdeen's face is a little obscured, but even from this distance, I can tell that the sight of the bow in Glimmer's hands makes her blood boil.

Stupid Glimmer. She's telling Cato what he wants to hear, instead of the truth, which is that he's risking his life going up there. If anyone should be chasing Katniss up a tree, it should be me. I'm the best climber here.

But then again, I don't know what I'd do if I got within striking distance of her. My mission is to keep her alive, and not killing her when I had the chance would sever my alliance with the Careers and alert the Capitol that something is foul in the arena. I can't. I just have to watch Cato try to climb the tree and hope he doesn't kill himself doing it.

"No," Cato says to the bow and arrows. "I'll do better with my sword."

_No, you won't_, I think. Katniss starts climbing again, and as she goes I get a glimpse of the burn on her leg. She's tough, to still be moving with what's got to be at least a second-degree burn covering her upper thigh. It crosses my mind that Katniss could be the victor even without Lief and I here to control things.

I hear an awful crack and see Cato fall, arms flailing, a pretty good-sized branch tumbling down beside him. He must be a terrible climber if he broke that branch; it could definitely take twice his weight. I observe this clinically as Cato plummets through the leaves, while beside me Glimmer gives a phony gasp and Lief snickers.

Cato hits the ground hard and lays there for a second, all the air knocked out of him. Then he scrambles back up, swearing fluently. I'm worried - he fell hard enough to break at least a few ribs - but I know better than to ask if he's all right. It'll make him angry. Maybe I'll ask later, after we can reach some sort of consensus about what to do here.

_Watch yourself, Spirit_, Lief says. _You almost sound like you care_.

_Shut up!_

"I'll try," Glimmer says, and pulls herself into the tree.

"Better back up," I say in an undertone. "If she falls, we don't want her to take us all out."

Cato snorts. "When she falls, you mean. I don't know who she thinks she's kidding. You're the climber. We should have sent you up and been done with it."

I shrug. "It wouldn't make a difference. Katniss is too high up and I'm too heavy for those branches."

Cato considers me for a second. Then he puts an arm around my waist and lifts me up in the air. I try my best not to shriek, but I end up making some protesting noise that's somewhere between a squeak and a hiss.

"You're not that heavy," Cato says.

"Maybe not to you, but the branches don't have your muscles," I say. "Can you set me down?"

Cato complies, and I step away, putting a little distance between us. The moment has gotten suddenly awkward, and both of us focus on Glimmer, who's forty feet up in the tree and pulling out her bow.

After Glimmer's abortive attempt to kill Katniss, which only results in the girl on fire getting ahold of an arrow, there's dissension in the ranks. Clove wants to climb the tree and kill Katniss herself, and when I point out that she's too heavy, she responds by saying that she's much lighter than Glimmer. Glimmer, of course, takes offense, and quite the girl fight is shaping when Peeta finally says, "Oh, let her stay up there. It's not like she's going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning."

I nod my agreement, and so does Lief, but it falls to Cato - the de facto leader of our merry band of murderers - to approve it. "Fine," he says. "Let's eat, too. I'm starving."

I bet Katniss is rolling her eyes. Cato probably doesn't know what starving feels like. Not that I do, either. Even when the Peacekeepers torched our crops and scattered our livestock, we knew how to feed ourselves from the tundra. There was nothing they could really do to eradicate us; short of killing us all, one by one.

"I'll set some deadfalls," I suggest. "Then we'll have fresh meat for breakfast tomorrow."

"We have plenty of food," Marvel says.

"With the way you eat, who knows how long that'll last?" I say pointedly. "I'll set the traps. You guys stay here and stuff your faces. Lief, come help me, will you?"

Once we're out of earshot and I've made sure no one's following us, Lief turns to me expectantly. "What is it? Or did you really need my help with the deadfalls?"

I grab him and drag him close, whispering in his ear. "Tomorrow morning, right after the anthem plays, Katniss is going to drop a nest of tracker jackers on us. Don't get stung. Run as fast as you can to the lake. Okay?"

"Got it," Lief says. "So where do you want me to set the deadfalls?"

I point out a game trail and off he goes. I had to whisper the warning to prevent those watching from wondering why I can see the future. At this point, I could kill Lief for not listening more closely when Abbess was explaining what would happen, because now the burden of keeping us both alive is resting squarely on my shoulders. As if I didn't have enough to worry about.

I set my snares, corral Lief, and return to the campsite. The Careers have built a fire and are passing out the food.

"Here's yours," Clove says, handing me a couple strips of dried meat and a hunk of bread. "Marvel tried to eat it, but Cato wouldn't let him."

"I did not," Marvel protests. "But hey, if you don't want it -"

"I want it!" I say hastily. "This is the Hunger Games, Marvel. I'm not going to let you eat my damn dinner!"

Everyone laughs, and as I look around the circle of teenagers, I realize once again that all of them save Peeta are going to die in the next few weeks. Glimmer is going to die sooner - in the next few hours, actually. And unless I'm willing to ruin the set path even further, there's nothing I can do about it. About any of it. They're just kids. They don't deserve to die.

_You're just a kid_, Lief points out. _You're only eighteen_.

_Shut up. That's different and you know it_.

I _don't think it's different_, Lief says.

_Yeah, well, no one's asking you_.

"Hey, District Seven," Clove says to me, "want this last piece of bread?"

I shake my head. "Nah, you have it. I'm stuffed."

After awhile, the fire begins to die down and the Careers drop off to sleep one by one. Even Glimmer, who's supposed to be on watch. I can't bring myself to sleep, not when I know what's going to happen in the morning. I stay awake to watch over them, knowing it's futile. My eyes linger on Cato's face, surprised at how young he looks when he's asleep, without that arrogant grin stamped on his features. And then, as always, I think of Valentine.

"You're not the same person," I say quietly. "Are you?"

There's no one but the cameras to hear my question.


	12. What Dreams May Come

By morning, I'm unbelievably exhausted. I've been coughing up gray mucus all night - the smoke's really gotten into my lungs - and my eyes are sticky with sleep, but as the sun comes up, I arrange my pack and get ready to bolt. I'm only going to have a few seconds' warning before the nest comes down, and it's crucial that I get away without being stung. It's possible that a sting could trigger the radiation sickness, but it's even more likely that in a full shape-changer's hair-trigger metabolism, the poison could cause a deadly shutdown.

I'm not going to die that way.

The anthem starts, and when I strain my ears, I can just make out the sound of Katniss sawing away at the branch, eighty feet above me. For a moment I really hate her, just like I hate everything that puts my life in danger, and then I remember that I'm here to keep her safe.

I hear a crack from above and I glance up to see the nest coming down. Time to make a run for it. I leap over the still-smoldering embers of the fire, kicking Lief awake as I go, and I run hell-for-leather toward the lake. I step on Cato's fingers on my way past him, but before I can figure out if it was really an accident, I hear the high buzz of tracker jackers in the air, and I put all my thought and effort into getting away.

"To the lake!" yells somebody, probably Lief or Clove, somebody with a good head on their shoulders. Our only chance to evade the tracker jackers is to get into the water, but the lake is still a good distance away, and I'm going to need a lot of luck and a lot more speed to make it. This isn't a run I'd like to make even on a good day, but with my lungs full of smoke, I don't rate my chances.

There's the water, just ahead of me. I plow in at full speed and submerge myself, hoping that there isn't anything carnivorous living in the lake. I decide that if there was, it would have eaten Glimmer when she was swimming here earlier.

Even under the water, I hear the cannon go off and I know that the girl from District One is dead. That means that Katniss is going after the arrows, Peeta is saving her. And Cato -

"Dammit!" I yell, and inhale a mouthful of water. That idiot! He can't just stay in the water. He has to go back and try to get Katniss, because he can't conceive of just giving up.

I swim for shore, passing Lief and Clove, both of whom are just wading in and both of whom have multiple stings. Wasn't Lief listening last night when I warned him? Did he just oversleep? Or did he stay back to help Clove get clear, even if it meant his own incapacitation?

And he has the gall to tell me not to get attached to Cato. Look at him!

The tracker jackers seem to have dispersed, so I yell at Lief and Clove to get out of the water. If they're still in the lake when the hallucinations start, they'll drown, and there's nothing I can do about that. I just hope Lief will have the sense to trust me on this one.

As I run back across the plain, I pass Marvel's unconscious form. He has four stings - possibly enough to kill him - but he's still breathing and when I check his pulse, it's strong, so I decide that he'll be fine until I can deal with him. I stop to catch my breath, cough out another mouthful of mucus, and then I'm running again, following Cato's blundering trail through the woods.

In the clearing, I get one good look at Glimmer's corpse before they haul it into the hovercraft, and she's absolutely hideous. The Capitol's going to have a hell of a time fixing her up before they ship her back to District One. I'm not sure what to think about her death. Sure, she was out to get me and would have stabbed me in the back if I'd given her the chance. But she was only seventeen.

"Run!" someone yells.

I spin around and take in the scene. Katniss is on all fours, scrambling backwards with the quiver of arrows slung across her back. Peeta stands between her and Cato, and Cato is advancing on them both, sword drawn.

Katniss turns to look at me, but she's not moving and Cato is still conscious, so I can't tell her to run her coal miner ass right out of this clearing. Instead I heft one of my hammers and cut around Peeta, coming right up to her.

"You'd better run," I snarl, and draw back my arm as though I'm going to take a swing.

This finally jars Katniss out of her stupor, and she bolts into the woods with the staggering, unsteady run of someone who is very, very drunk. I glare after her, thinking that it's lucky she isn't unconscious yet. Somebody her size with three stings, she should be down and out for the count by now.

Something heavy hits me in the back and I collapse, Peeta's dead weight crushing me into the ground. Cato has sliced open his upper thigh, and his blood is all over my shirt. "Get moving," I hiss in Peeta's ear. "I can't save your life."

I shove him aside and struggle to my feet, putting myself between him and Cato as he drags himself away into the woods, toward the stream. I'll say this for Peeta Mellark; he doesn't question me. He just takes my instructions and runs with them.

Cato doesn't look so good. He's swaying back and forth. His pupils are dilating and contracting at rapid speeds, and I can see beads of sweat standing out on his forehead. His eyes dart from side to side. I'm no expert, but I can tell that he's in the midst of a full-on meltdown.

Cato's eyes focus on me, and he aims the point of his sword at my chest. "You! You're a mutt!"

That's not good. I hold out my empty hands, trying to show him that I'm unarmed, but it backfires; he takes a swipe at me with the sword and I leap backwards, barely getting out of range in time.

"I'm not a mutt!" I yell at him, but the noise only serves to unhinge him further, and he charges forward, flailing the sword at me. I'm expecting him to collapse at any minute, but for someone his size who only has one sting, the venom must take a while to work.

I don't have a while. I'm under attack and I have to find a way to stop him before he kills me in a tracker jacker-fueled rage. Ordinarily, I'd have at least some sense of what he'd do, but in this state, he's totally unpredictable. This is more dangerous than I realized. I should have just stayed back at the lake.

He lunges at me, and like a hunter evading a musk ox charge, I pivot to the side, letting him go right past. Then I grab him from behind, get my hooks in, and choke him. He flails at me, but between my position and his growing panic about the entire situation, he can't get a good grip. Maybe thirty seconds later, he collapses, his brain shutting down the rest of his body for lack of oxygen, and I step back and let him sink to the ground.

In the Capitol and District Seven, I'm sure there are people cheering for me to kill him. In District Two, they're cursing my name, unable to understand how an untrained girl from a poor district could possibly take their champion down. And in the northlands somewhere, Abbess is watching.

"Sorry," I tell him, "but this is going to hurt."

Then I get my hands under his arms and start dragging him back to the campsite.

It takes me at least an hour to move everyone to the base camp. Lief and Clove made it back there before they collapsed, but Marvel is still passed out on the plain and I had to knock Cato out even farther into the woods. I suppose if I'd been thinking clearly, I would have made him chase me back to the camp before I rendered him unconscious, but as it was, I was more preoccupied with not getting stabbed, and now I have to drag him and Marvel. And they're both awfully heavy.

Once I've got everyone in their tents, I realize that somebody's missing. Where's the boy from District Three? I lost track of him once the nest fell; he could be anywhere, could have taken advantage of the confusion to separate himself from the Career pack. If he did that, did he leave the mines activated? What will I do for food?

I give my head a little shake to clear it, ordering myself not to jump to conclusions. If I can't find positive proof that District Three ran, then likely as not he's still here.

"District Three?" I say cautiously. Even though the Careers, Katniss, and Peeta are all incapacitated, Thresh is still out here somewhere and I don't want to risk drawing him down on me. "District Three? Where are you?"

I hear a loud crunch behind me and I whip around, ready to let my hammer fly as soon as I get a fix on a target.

"Spirit, it's just me!"

"Me" being the boy from District Three, of course. So he's still here after all. I look him over, checking for stinger lumps and weapons, and only when I'm certain he's neither injured nor armed do I lower the hammer.

"Don't scare me like that again," I warn him. "Next time, I'll throw first and ask questions later. How did you get clear?"

"I went around behind the tree and stayed quiet," he says proudly. "The wasps were so busy chasing Glimmer that they left me alone."

I can see how that would work, and it occurs to me that the boy from District Three is good at keeping a low profile, letting bigger competitors like Katniss and Thresh occupy the Careers' attention. His plan for these Games is probably to lie low until most of the competition is dead and then come out fighting - something similar to what Johanna did in her Games.

One thing's for sure, I'll be sleeping with one eye open until Cato kills him. Actually, it might be better if I don't sleep at all for the next few days. Who knows what District Three might try with all the Careers disabled? He seems harmless now, but I'll be the first to tell you that no one is what they appear to be.

"What are you going to do now, Spirit?" he asks, tagging along beside me as I head for the lake.

"Get some water."

"What about the others? What are you going to do to them?"

I can tell by his tone of voice that he expects me to kill them. "I'm going to try and fix them up," I say, smirking a little at the shocked look on his face. "Do what you want. I don't expect you to help me."

I fill a bucket with water, add some iodine to purify it, and while I'm waiting, I study the Careers. Lief and Clove have two stings each. Marvel has four, and as far as I can tell, Cato only has the one, a big, nasty lump just beneath his left eye. By now, that side of his face is swollen almost beyond recognition.

When I come out of the tents, I find that the boy from District Three has vanished again.

"What do I do now?" I say quietly. The tracker jacker venom will keep them down for a few days, but in the meantime, what will I do? I'll do my best to keep guard over them and tend to their injuries, but the audience wants to see blood, and a tribute taking care of her fellows is about as bloodless as it gets. I'd bet - well, maybe not my whole hand, but at least a couple of fingers - that the Gamemakers will try to scare me off.

Well. I'm a northerner, and they'll find that I don't scare easily. And on the subject of the injured Careers, I decide to start by digging the stingers out of the lumps.

I have to use the tip of one of Clove's knives to pry out the stingers - I guess the longer you wait, the more deeply they embed themselves in your skin - and when they come out, they bring a lot of blood and pus with them. I start with Marvel because he has the most stings, and by the time I've removed all four, my hands are sticky with gray-green pus. The blood stopped flowing after I refined my technique a bit.

After Marvel, I deal with Lief and Clove, mostly because I don't know what to do with the sting under Cato's eye. I'll have to be incredibly careful - if the knife slips in my hand, I could accidentally blind him.

My hands are absolutely covered in pus, and I know there's no way I'll be able to hold a knife steady. "Time to wash up," I tell myself, and head down to the lake again.

Once my hands are clean, I splash some water into my face. It's well into the afternoon and I haven't slept in thirty-six hours, but I know better than to think I'll get any sleep tonight. I'd better wake myself up a little. I push my hair back with one hand and dunk my head in.

When I come up for air, I see a pair of amber eyes watching me from the trees.

It's that little girl from District Eleven. Rue. She's spying on us!

_No, Spirit_, I scold myself. _The Careers are not "us". You are not one of them_.

Regardless of whether or not I'm one of them, I need to show Rue that somebody here is alive and moving. Well, there's the boy from District Three, but I've seen neither hide nor hair of him in hours. It's safe to say he won't be any help.

I straighten up, raise one arm, and point directly at her. "I see you," I say, my voice carrying nicely across the water. "Get out of here."

She takes my advice, melting back into the trees. If she were less of an evader, she would have called my bluff, but between her small size and her probable lack of weapons, she won't risk me chasing her down. She wants to stay alive.

But she won't. She's going to die, when I can save her. I can save them all.

I can't. My mission is more important than her life, than my life, than the lives of every tribute who has ever died in a Hunger Games. I shut my eyes and inhale deeply, taking in the scent of pine and sun-baked earth. Then I turn back to the camp to deal with Cato.

In their shared tent, Marvel is twitching around like something's seriously wrong with him, but I figure that if he hasn't died by now, he'll be fine, and I don't worry about it. Between Marvel and Cato, though, the tent is crowded, so I drag Cato out into the sunlight, which in addition to giving me more room to work with also puts me in view of any cameras prowling around. I'm fairly sure that I'm being broadcast right now, because nobody is quite sure what I'm doing. People are probably expecting me to kill him. I'll be the first to admit that dragging him facedown out of the tent by his feet looked awfully suspicious.

At first I kneel by his shoulder, knife poised. It's no small irony that people - my mentor and most of District Seven, probably - are cheering for me to murder him, when I'm actually trying to help him. I'm about to go after the stinger when I realize that, in this position, my knife hand is way too unstable. I sigh and sit back on my heels.

"Okay. New plan," I mutter. I need a new angle of attack, so I lift Cato's head into my lap and reposition the knife. Much better. At least my hand isn't shaking so badly any longer.

I cautiously poke the stinger lump with the knife, and it immediately begins to spew pus.

"Okay," I say, mopping at the mess with my already bloodstained shirt. I'll definitely be going for another swim in the lake when this is over. "Okay, that's good. At least it's draining."

I wonder how much of this Cato is feeling, and I decide I'd better get it over with fast. I dig the tip of the knife into the lump and pull out the stinger, bringing up a lot of pus and some blood, too. I strip off my jacket and use the sleeve to sop up the pus, doing my best to keep it out of his eyes.

Once I've cleared things up, I see that the swelling is already going down. I lift his head back out of my lap and go get the med kit, smearing the injury with antibiotic cream before wrapping it up. I don't have the energy to drag him back into the tent; I need food, and worse, sleep, neither of which are likely to be forthcoming until I can figure out where the boy from District Three went. I pull myself up and start looking.

I find him surprisingly fast. He's in the woods, poking around in the clearing where the nest fell, armed only with a knife.

"You idiot," I say, and he jumps about a foot in the air and screams loud enough to wake the dead - never a good thing in the arena. And on top of that, he drops his knife. I pick it up and spin it carelessly between my fingers. "If I were Thresh you'd be dead right now. Come back to the camp."

He follows me, mostly because I didn't leave any room in my tone for argument. When we reach the camp, I find Marvel's discarded spear and give it to him. "Keep watch. I'm going swimming."

"But -"

"If I catch you spying on me," I interrupt him, "or if I hear a cannon, I will kill you on the spot. Understood?"

He nods, then takes up a position in front of one of the tents, glancing nervously at Cato's comatose form every so often. Satisfied that his fear of me is enough to keep him in line, I head for the lake. I paddle clumsily around for a bit, wondering what the Capitol citizens will think of a tribute who treats her time in the arena as an exotic vacation, then get down to business, stripping off my filthy shirt and jacket and giving them a good wash. The undergarments are mostly clean, so I leave them on.

I lay the clothes out on one of the flat rocks by the lake's edge to dry and flip onto my back, floating in the water. Only after I hear a loud buzzing noise from the apparently empty air above my head do I realize that the myriad scars covering my torso are visible, and all the cameras are zooming in to get a good look.

For a minute I consider covering the scars up, but what's the point? The scars are already being broadcast, and who knows - it might get me sponsors. The scars Valentine gave me are the most obvious, of course, but there are others; mutt claw marks along my rib cage, a web of thin silver scars from practice fights. Basically, I look like I've been through a war.

At least I don't have any suspicious scars. I know for a fact that Lief has a bullet hole in his shoulder from where Valentine "accidentally" shot him during a training session. I could just imagine the Games commentators trying to explain that one.

I climb out of the water and decide to let myself air-dry a bit. I end up lying on my back on one of the big rocks. So maybe my eyes slide shut, and I let myself doze off a little. So what? I've had a tiring day.

I wake up to a cold, rather clammy hand on my shoulder. "Spirit! Wake up!"

I know that voice. My hands shoot out and wrap around the throat of the boy from District Three. "Remember what I told you would happen if you spied on me?"

"Parachute," manages District Three. His hands claw weakly at my wrists. "For you."

I let him go. "What is it?"

"I don't know," District Three says. "But it came with this."

He holds out a note. I can recognize Johanna's spiky, nearly illegible handwriting, and by the time I unfold it, I already have a guess what it says. "Run and hide, loveless," I read. "Here there be monsters."


	13. Don't Go Out Tonight

A/N: Thanks to HermioneandMarcus and Impish Wisdoms for the reviews, and to bigtimecrazy123 for words of wisdom.

* * *

_No_. I chance a look at the sky and see, to my horror, that the sun is already beginning its descent. I don't have much time. Knowing the Gamemakers, whatever attack is going to happen will happen at night, and I have to figure out the sponsor gift and make whatever meager preparations I can before then.

"Spirit? Spirit? What does that note mean?" The boy from District Three chases after me as I run for the campsite, pulling my shirt and jacket on as I go.

"It's a warning," I tell him. "The Gamemakers are going to try and scare me away from the Careers."

"Why?"

I roll my eyes. "Why do you think? For the same reason that you were expecting me to kill them. Because this is the Hunger Games."

Here there be monsters. It's a phrase ancient cartographers would write at the edges of their maps, to mark off the unknown and keep others from venturing into it. Why would Johanna, when she's given only a few minutes to scribble a note, choose to include that?

"Where's the parachute?" I ask District Three. He scampers off to where Cato still lies and brings it back. The box attached to the parachute is making an odd noise, as though its contents are rolling around inside.

I pry open the lid, finding neat stacks of fluorescent red tubes, capped in white on each end. Magnesium flares. They're standard issue to Peacekeepers, and I've stolen them off of bodies enough times to know how to use them, setting them around the edges of a settlement to keep the mutts and ice wolves away.

Now I understand Johanna's warning and the gift. The Gamemakers are sending some type of wild animal to attack me tonight, and the flares are the only weapon she could get me on such short notice. They'll be useful, that's for sure - animals have good night vision, and I can use the flares to blind them. Lief knows a way to turn the flares into flash grenades, but I don't remember it, and I really don't have the time to be messing around with flares with sundown fast approaching. I'm going to have to move fast.

The boy from District Three studies me. "What are you going to do?"

I run through my options. I could cut and run, but that would brand me a coward, lose me every sponsor I have, and leave the Careers to the mercy of the animals. Or I could stay put, build up the fire, and face the attackers with a flare in one hand and a hammer in the other. There's no choice, really.

The Gamemakers have me in a corner, and they know it. No matter what I do - if I run and let the Careers get eaten alive, if I stay and get eaten myself, if I somehow manage to repel the attackers - they get a dramatic scene for their Games. I'm starting to get an inkling of what it's like to live underneath the Capitol's thumb. At least in the north, you're free to fight back. But here, every move you make puts you deeper into your grave.

I grab a flare out of the package and, as an afterthought, Cato's sword as well. It's still lying on the ground. "Chop some wood. I'm going to need it. Put Cato back in his tent, would you? I'll be back for you soon."

The ideal thing to do would be to build a fire ring around the camp, but the sun is already setting and I'm nearly out of time. Using Cato's sword, I hack branches off the trees and drag them back to the campsite, building a pile next to the fire pit. Then I take the boy from District Three out into the woods and put him twenty feet high in a fir tree. He's too scared to go any higher.

"Come down when it's morning," I tell him. "It'll all be over by then."

Then I return to the campsite, build up the fire, and wait.

The sun dips below the horizon, the anthem plays, and Glimmer's face appears in the sky. In her training photo, she was smiling, showing off her best asset; her pretty face. Then she's gone, and I can't pretend I'll miss her, but nobody deserves to die the way she did.

Except for every last Capitol citizen. I'd do that and worse to them if I had the chance. And maybe I will get the chance. That's why I'm here, after all.

I see the yellow eyes first, glowing from the copse by the lake. They're low to the ground, maybe knee-high for me, moving back and forth in the twilight. Based on the size and the eye color, it's a fox mutt or a coyote, and I won't lie, I'm hoping for the latter. One bite from a fox mutt will be the end, and a tribute dying of poison wouldn't be quite so interesting as a drawn-out fight. I think it'll be coyotes. I hope.

I slowly stand up, my hammer in my right hand, flare in my left. The movement triggers more coyotes, more sets of yellow eyes in the gathering darkness. I count eight pairs of eyes in all.

"All right," I say to the animals, now prowling out of the woods to circle the camp. "Who's first?"

As the first one jumps, I strike the flare and thrust it into the animal's face, relieved to see the drooping, scarred muzzle of a coyote. The coyote lets out a howl of pain and falls, thrashing on the ground and clawing at its eyes. Its mouth is open in a snarl, and I get a good look at its back teeth and jaws, huge mandibles made to crush through muscle and bone. These aren't like fox mutts, which bite and retreat. These things get their teeth into you and don't let go until you're dead.

I swing my hammer and crush its skull. Then I lift the still-twitching body by the scruff of the neck and toss it into the pack, hoping that the corpse of one of their brethren will give them a hint to watch their step. I want them nervous.

There's a reason that the shape-changers are the ones who fight the mutts and ice wolves. We understand the way they move and think, because we have those instincts in us, too, but we also know better than to let that instinct dominate us. It's funny; the Capitol built the mutts to be our perfect predators.

Instead, we're the perfect predators to them.

The corpse makes the coyotes back off, but when they come in for a second attack, they come in a group. Two on one side, three on the other, backing me up against the fire pit. They ignore the Careers, unconscious in their tents, which leads me to believe that either they plan to take me down first and then feast uninterrupted or they're here for me only. I'm not sure which one worries me more.

I plant my feet. Let them come close. I've got no more room to retreat, and I want to show everybody, sponsors and viewers and Abbess and Valentine, wherever he is, that the girl from District Seven won't run.

Two coyotes leap at me, one from the right, one from the left. I get the first one with a solid strike across the abdomen and it falls back with a whimper. The other one comes in lower, and I nail it with a kick, pinning it to the ground with my foot and jamming the flare into its open jaws.

I feel claws scrabbling across my ribs, hot breath on my neck, and I realize that one of the coyotes is on my back. The extra weight tips me backwards, straight into the fire pit. The coyote hits the flames first and as soon as its claws release, I clamber out of the pit, my clothes smoldering, the smell of burnt flesh permeating the night.

I hit the ground and roll, trying to put out any flames, and the six remaining coyotes jump on me all at once. I smash one's jaw with my hammer and grab for another flare, lighting it up on the ground as I struggle to my feet.

The coyotes break away. Four of them form a ragged circle around me while the other two bolt for the entrances of the tents, where Lief and Clove and Marvel and Cato are unable to defend themselves.

A snarl rips out of my mouth, and I can feel my canine teeth prickling in my gums, wanting to extend into fangs. I force them back and leap out of the circle, tackling the coyote headed for Lief's tent, dragging it down and smashing it in the head over and over again until its skull splits. But killing this coyote has cost me precious time. The others are all clamoring to get into the tent where Marvel and Cato sleep. I toss my flare into the middle of the pack, hurl my hammer after it, then grab up a burning branch from the fire pit to chase the beasts away.

One of them has its teeth in Cato's shoulder, preparing to lock down its jaw and shake him until his neck breaks. I jam the flare in between its jaws, grab it around the middle, and heave it backwards into the seething group of its fellows. Cato is bleeding from his shoulder, but the wound doesn't look deep and I have to focus. Five coyotes left. Then this will be over. I scoop my hammer off the ground and face them again.

The smell of Cato's blood is making the coyotes mad with hunger. They're frothing at the mouth and letting loose these horrible howls that make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I open my mouth and howl right back at them, because this is my territory and they don't belong here. The coyotes stop for a moment, taking my call as the challenge that it is.

They charge in as a group. They're smart, these coyotes, and they know that they've got me badly outnumbered. I manage to get my foot under one of them and kick it into the fire pit, but thanks to the blood smell they're bolder now, and they don't retreat. Two of them try to get around behind me while another goes for my throat, and while I'm dealing with their attack, the fourth coyote leaps up and sinks its teeth into my upper left arm.

I can feel the jaws lock down, crushing into my skin, going for my bones, and I can't help it; I let out a cry more similar to that of the coyotes than a sound a human would make. Then I'm angry, for letting them know I'm hurt, and I decide that I've got to finish this now.

I throw myself to the ground as hard as I can, then pick myself up and do it again, trying to jar the coyote loose. The second impact must break something, the coyote's spine, maybe, because its whole body goes limp and it drops away. I'm in a bad spot. Blood pouring from my upper arm, splayed out on the ground, three coyotes closing in.

Then I see Cato's sword lying on the ground beside the pile of firewood, and I lunge for it. The coyotes charge after me, and my fingers close around the hilt of the sword just as the first coyote jumps.

Blood spatters my face as I slice it in two. Its entrails spill onto the ground, and the remaining coyotes just about lose their minds, falling on their dead comrade and starting to gorge themselves. From there, it's easy to kill them. And then I'm standing in the middle of the camp, two dead coyotes in the fire pit and six more scattered around.

Breathing hard, covered in blood, I straighten up, face the sky. "What else have you got?" I demand, half expecting a whole new pack of coyotes to come tearing out of the woods. But all that happens is that the earth opens up, swallowing the dead coyotes as if they were never here in the first place. The only clues that they were even real are the bloodstains on the ground and the heavy blood scent in the air.

* * *

It's a little past midnight, and I'm still trying to put the camp back in order. I pick up the used flares and put them in a pile by the entrance to my unused tent, but then I have to stop because there's so much blood coming out of the wound on my arm. The first thing I did was bandage it, but it's still not stopping. That damn coyote. It must've broken a couple veins. I replace the bandage, tying it as tight as I dare, and get back to work.

I pull Cato out of his tent to check his wound. It's nowhere near as deep as mine is, and it's not bleeding too bad, but it's big and wide and I decide that I'd better stitch it. When I try to thread the needle, though, I see four threads and eight eyes and I'm not sure which ones are real. I end up trying all of them in turn before finally getting the right one.

As I begin to stitch the cut, I sing softly under my breath. Even though I spent a year in medic school, I never got used to the feeling of a needle sliding in and out of skin. One of my teachers suggested that I distract myself, and singing is the way I do it.

Northerners have a thing for music. Each family has a collection of songs that they brought with them when they fled the bombs, and those songs have been passed down for generations, mother to daughter, father to son. I may not be able to remember my parents' faces, but I can sing every note and word of their songs. That and the radiation sickness are the only inheritance I got from them.

I find myself slipping into one particular song, repeating the same verses over and over again as I stitch Cato's wound shut. The world seems like it's spinning around me, and it's hard to focus on the task at hand. When I'm done, I wrap it in bandages and put him back in his tent.

Then I look down at my own arm and see that it's covered in blood. The bandage I replaced less than ten minutes ago is already soaked through. I pull it away and stare at the injury. Yes, it's deep. But I've had pressure on it for a good hour now. It should have stopped. Why isn't it stopping?

The answer occurs to me, the answer that's been drilled into my brain since I was a child. Radiation sickness.

_It's starting_.

I drop to the ground, bury my head in my hands. Radiation sickness is a blood disease. When it triggers, you start bleeding, and nothing short of cauterizing the wound shut will stop it. But even that's just a temporary measure. Because the next time you get a cut, it'll start all over again. How could I have missed the signs? Dizziness, fatigue - they were all there, but I attributed them to sleep deprivation and dehydration and ignored them.

And now I'm going to die. I'm going to bleed out just like my mother did, like my father would have if the bullet in his brain hadn't killed him first. It's over.

I allow myself another moment of self-pity; then I lift my hand and slap myself across the face. "You idiot," I say. "Pull it together. Do something."

In some cases, the wound can't be cauterized, or the patient bleeds out too fast. That's what happened to my mother. But this wound is small and easily accessible; there's no reason why it can't be cauterized. I have time. I can still do this.

I select one of Clove's knives and place the blade in the leftover coals from last night's fire. Then I go to the lake and get a bucket of water, in case I accidentally set myself on fire. I wish someone else was awake. I wish someone else was here to do this for me, because my hands are shaking and I'm dizzy and I'm not sure if I can sit patient and still while applying a red-hot piece of metal to my skin.

And anyway, who knows how much time this procedure will give me? Now that the radiation sickness has been triggered, my number is up, and the likelihood that this will be the last time I'm injured during the Games is about zero. It would take a miracle for me to survive long enough to get to the Capitol to be cured.

_Why not give up now? _Valentine's voice whispers in my ear. I jump a bit. These last few days, where I haven't slept at all, have kept Valentine mostly out of my head. It's a shock to hear him now. _Just let go_.

Now that he's on board with the giving up idea, there's no way I'm going to go through with it. "Shut up," I tell Valentine. "I'm not going anywhere."

I wrap my hand in a bandage, reach into the fire, and grab the knife by its hilt. I'm going to have to move fast; I can feel the heat through the cloth. Taking a deep breath to steel myself, I lift the knife and place the tip of the blade on the wound.

The pain is instant and agonizing. I scream loud enough to scare the birds out of the trees and drop the knife into the dirt, rocking back and forth on the ground and trying not to howl like a wounded animal. There's a reason why animals fear fire; because burns hurt worse than anything else. Having been stabbed, clawed, bitten, and cut open on various occasions, I'm definitely qualified to say that.

"Ahhh," I manage. I extend my arm, studying the bite. Half of it has become an angry white weal, tight and swollen, but the other half is still resolutely oozing blood. I could maybe sustain that amount of blood loss for a few days, but the Games are set to go on for at least another week, and I know I can't hold out that long. I'm going to have to do it again.

I retrieve the knife, dump rubbing alcohol all over it to sterilize the blade, and put it back in the fire. While I'm waiting, I go through the med kit, hoping for some kind of ointment to apply to my new third-degree burn. If I give it time, the blister will pop and the skin will begin to peel off, leading to more blood, and I'm going to have to stave that off as long as I can. The last thing I need is more blood and the prospect of infection.

Speaking of which, that coyote could have been carrying diseases. It would be just like the Gamemakers to sic a rabid animal on me. I pick through the kit and come up with several syringes labeled 'rabies vaccine'. The needles are enormous, and staring at them, I get a knot in my stomach.

"Oh, suck it up," I say to myself. "You just burned a hole in your _arm_. But if you're so scared of a little old needle, go give Cato his shot first."

I crawl into Cato's tent. He seems to be sleeping a lot easier, and I realize that he'll be waking up soon. I'd better get this whole cauterizing business done before he does. I prime the needle and shoot it into his upper arm. Then I crawl back out to give myself the shot.

I tug down my pants on one side to expose my hip and inject the vaccine, swearing like a blue streak the whole time. I shot it right into the muscle, but at least it's in.

By now the knife is heated again. "Let's get this over with," I mumble.

I lift the knife and press it down on the still-bleeding part of the wound. It's worse this time, because I know what's coming, but I keep the knife in place, aware that I won't be able to do this a third time. I can feel my skin bubbling, nerves screaming in pain. When I can't stand it any longer, I try to pull the knife away, but it won't come free. And then the true horror occurs to me; the blade is stuck to my skin.

"No!" I scream, and I rip the knife back. I think that's when I black out.


	14. They Call It Chivalry

A/N: Wow, I've never gotten so many reviews on a single chapter before. And now this story has beaten my other one! So here goes...thanks to bigtimecrazy123, -Effy, Guest, HermioneandMarcus, adjh, black-rose-angle, HGfan167 (and yes, there's more), and victoria. You're all amazing, and I apologize for the pseudo-cliffhanger in the last chapter. Here we go...

* * *

The first thing I'm aware of is the smell, a mix of burnt flesh and human who's been baking in the sun for a day or two. That can't be coming from me. Surely I haven't been unconscious that long?

"Spirit?"

Who's saying my name? I force my eyes open and make out a face I recognize. "Go away, Valentine," I mutter. "Let me sleep."

"So Valentine's a real person now? Didn't you tell me he was an inside joke?"

The voice is amused now. And that's definitely not Valentine talking. I make myself think back, to the moments before I fell unconscious. "Cato?"

"The one and only."

I sit up slowly, being careful of my injured arm. By the slant of the sun in the sky, I'm guessing that it's late afternoon. I've been unconscious for maybe twelve hours; a long time, certainly, but nothing like the days I was expecting. Why is Cato awake, though? The venom is supposed to put you down for two days at least, and it's been less than thirty-six hours. But then again, Cato is bigger than all of us and he only has one sting. Of course it wouldn't last. "How long have you been awake?"

"A bit," Cato says. "Long enough that I saw you passed out by the fire, but not long enough to have any idea how you got that way."

I shrug. "Life and death struggle. Got bitten. Had to cauterize it. You know, the usual."

"Bitten?" Cato raises his eyebrows. "By who? Did Thresh take a snap at you?"

I laugh. "Nah, just some coyotes."

Cato sits back on his heels and watches me as I examine the wound. The whole thing is a mix of angry red and shiny white, but as I poke around it, I can't detect any hints of bleeding under the skin. I count that as a success. Now I've just got to compress the burn before the blister explodes on me. I wrap the wound as tightly as I dare and then tie it off. "How are you feeling?" I ask Cato.

He shrugs. "Aside from my face being swollen to hell and my mouth tasting like something furry crawled into it and died, I'm okay. Better than I thought I'd be."

"Why?"

"Because if any of us had been in your position," Cato says, "we'd have killed off everyone else. Are you sure we're not dead?"

For a minutes, I seriously consider the possibility, but then I decide that if I were dead, Valentine would be here, and I dismiss it. "You're not dead."

"Are you sure?"

For somebody who's recovering from a tracker jacker sting, he sure is feeling good if he's got it in him to try and prank me.

"Okay, Cato," I say exasperatedly. "You've got me. We're all dead. This is the afterlife. I killed all of you in your sleep, and then Katniss Everdeen came along and shot me in the head."

Cato laughs, then winces, bringing a hand to his cheek. "Ouch."

I get the med kit and remove some bandages. "Come here. Let me see it. I pulled the stinger out yesterday, and it started bleeding, but I think the swelling's gone down."

As I unwrap the bandage, Cato says, "Why'd you cauterize the thing on your arm? You could've stitched it like you did with me."

"That would only close the wound," I say. "It wouldn't stop the bleeding."

Cato quiets down as I poke at the stinger lump. Then he says, "You're good at this. Medic stuff, I mean."

"I should be. I was an apprentice medic for a year."

"Ah."

When I turned thirteen, I was placed in the medic program. Although shape-changers are usually placed in battle training, the fact that I was a full shape-changer with about a one hundred percent chance of dying of radiation sickness was a strike against me - and my small size didn't exactly work in my favor, either. I was shunted sideways into medic school while Lief and the others were sent to the training field, shooting stolen guns at dummies with targets on their chests.

I did all right while we were learning theory, but as soon as the instructors got me working with the patients, they discovered that I had all the compassion of a hungry ice wolf. I was gruff and curt with the patients, if not downright rude. To one patient, who came in complaining that he was sick every day for three months, I said, "Stop being sick and just be dead."

A few days later, he was, and I got kicked out of medic school. I spent an aimless summer running messages for Abbess, and by the time the midnight sun finally began to sink, I'd grown six inches and learned to fight. I was put into an accelerated class on the training fields, and a year later, I was a field commander and meeting Valentine for the first time, looking into the eyes of the boy who would become my ruin.

"So, how does it look?" Cato prompts me, and I struggle to refocus my eyes on the sting. "My face isn't going to drop off or anything. Right?"

"No, it's fine," I say. "I'll just rewrap it, and then you should probably eat something. Have you seen District Three anywhere?"

Cato shakes his head. "No. What'd you do with him?"

"Put him up a tree so the coyotes wouldn't get at him," I say. "And don't go near the food yet. The mines are still activated."

I get up, to go find District Three and make him deactivate the trap, but the world spins around me and I drop to my knees, pressing my fingers to the ground to make sure it's still there.

"You all right?" Cato is staring at me with an odd expression on his face, like he's not sure what to make of my absurd behavior. I wish someone else was awake. This is awkward.

"I'm fine," I hear myself say. "Oh, and Cato? You might want to take a bath in the lake while I'm gone. After a day and a half in a tent, you smell a little ripe."

I make it into the woods before he can respond.

The boy from District Three is fast asleep in his tree, arms and legs flopping everywhere like a child's rag doll. I climb up into the tree and poke him until his eyes open; then I have to quickly grab him by the ankle to prevent him from falling off his branch in a panic.

"You're alive?" he says, shocked.

"Always the tone of surprise," I mutter, wishing I'd just let him drop. It's going to be hard, hauling him up with only one arm. "I have to let you down. We're hungry and I don't know where you put the controller."

"We?" District Three says as we walk back through the woods.

"Cato's awake."

"Oh."

I get the impression that District Three isn't pleased. And then I remember that District Three's life is measured in days, if not hours, now that Cato's awake. Katniss will be awake, too, and as soon as she blows up the supplies, Cato will kill District Three for failing to protect them.

While District Three gets the controller and deactivates the mines, I check on the other Careers. Lief and Clove are already stirring, but Marvel is as unconscious as ever, so I figure I have some time before they rejoin us. That's good. I need time to pull myself together.

I have radiation sickness. That's not so hard to accept. I've known I'd eventually have it for years. And now that I've stopped the bleeding from the bite, I'm not going to die from it, because after Lief and I force the Gamemakers to crown four victors, we'll go to the Capitol and they'll fix me up. So what about the fact that it's finally begun do I find so terrifying?

I guess it's because if nothing else, I've always been able to rely on my own strength. And now, even that is giving out on me.

"I took a bath. Happy now?" Cato is back, dripping wet from a swim in the lake.

"With all my heart."

"Somebody's in a bad mood."

"I've spent the last day and a half watching over your comatose body," I tell him, "and the only sleep I've gotten was when I passed out. Give me a break."

That's a conversation killer if there ever was one. During the silence that follows, the boy from District Three scurries over, tells me that he's deactivated the mines, and beats a hasty retreat back to his tent. Cato gets up and heads for the food pile. He tosses a rock first, to make sure that the mines are actually dead. Always careful, that Cato. Just like Valentine. And probably even harder to kill.

I cradle my aching head in my hands and wonder if this is going to get easier at some point. If Valentine will ever leave me alone - or if he and Cato will haunt me for the rest of my life.

"Here."

I look up to see Cato brandishing a pack of food at me. "Here," he says again. "Take this. I know you're hungry."

He sounds awfully confrontational, but I realize that Cato, in his own clumsy way, is trying to do something nice. "Thanks," I say, accepting the food. I open the pack and pick through, selecting some stale bread, a bit of beef jerky, and a handful of dried fruit. I hand the pack to Cato. "You have the rest."

Cato takes it, but instead of retreating back into his tent like I'm expecting him to, he sits down next to me. Without preamble, he says, "Being noble doesn't work, Spirit. Not in here."

"I'm not being noble," I tell him, irritated that he thinks my taking care of him was some kind of ploy for the cameras.

"Really?" Cato snaps back. "You're seriously going to tell me you weren't doing that to win sponsors?"

"No, I was doing it so I could stand to live with myself!" My voice has gotten far too loud, but I don't care. The boy from District Three pokes his head out of his tent, sees Cato and I arguing, and retreats again.

"If you keep pulling stunts like that, you won't have to live with yourself much longer!" Cato yells. We're both on our feet now, glaring into each other's eyes; then, inexplicably, he looks away first. "Dammit, Spirit. Just give it up. That's what everyone else does."

"Is that what they teach you in District Two?" I say.

"They teach us how to win," Cato says flatly.

I suppose they do. But lately, between Valentine and the tributes in the arena, I've been thinking that knowing how to die is more important.

"I wish you luck, then," I say, and I turn away, heading for the food pile or the tents or the lake. I don't know where. Just away from this boy who will be dead in a few weeks, who is telling me that compassion will get me killed.

"Spirit," Cato says, almost yelling again. I turn back to look at him. He opens his mouth to say something, then seems to think different of it. "I hope someone else kills you before I have to."

"There are twelve of us left," I say quietly. "I think the odds are in your favor."

An awkward, heavy silence falls over the campsite. District Three seems to have decided to ride out our argument in his tent. Probably he's hoping that I'll kill Cato or Cato will kill me and then he'll have one less Career to worry about. I almost wish he'd come out. Then at least something would be happening here.

"What have you been doing while we were out?" Cato asks finally, in a clumsy attempt to start a conversation.

"Not much," I say. "Going for swims. Scaring the hell out of District Three. That sort of thing."

"You keep calling him District Three," Cato says. "Do you even know his name?"

I shake my head. "Do you?"

"No. I guess it's better this way," Cato says. He doesn't say why, but I understand what he's thinking; it's easier to kill someone when you can't put a name to their face. Cato must know the tricks that help make the murders we commit not matter. "Seen anything of the other tributes?"

"I saw the girl from Eleven, Rue or something," I say.

"When?"

"Yesterday, at two or three in the afternoon. She was spying on us out of the woods," I explain. "I didn't chase after her, though."

"That's all right. We can get her later," Cato says. "You did a good job, Spirit. I hope you at least got some sponsor gifts out of it."

That, I know, is as close to a thank-you as I'm going to get from Cato. I can live with that. "No, I didn't get any gifts for taking care of you lot. Just some flares to help scare the coyotes."

"Fighting them must've been a nightmare," Cato says.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, being eaten alive seems like it would be the worst way to go," he says, shuddering. "It's not like fighting a person. It's an animal. It doesn't care about you, and it's not killing you to survive. It's killing you just because it can."

I shudder, too. Personally, I think dying of radiation sickness would be the worst, but knowing what I know about what will eventually happen to Cato in these Games, his terror of being eaten alive is especially frightening. Are the Gamemakers listening to this? Are they going to set the muttation tributes on him simply because they know that they're his worst fear?

I think I hate the Capitol more than I ever have at this moment.

"I wasn't scared," I say.

Cato laughs. "Yeah, right."

"No, I really wasn't," I say. "Not the kind of scared you're talking about. I was tense, sure, but I wasn't all that worried. I knew I was going to make it. I was just worried about getting chewed up."

The seal of Panem appears in the sky and the anthem plays. There are no faces in the sky tonight. No one is dead, thanks in no small part to me. When the sun sets, the temperature drops fast, and Cato zips his jacket shut and pulls up the hood, trying to shield himself from the wind.

"Your fingernails are turning blue," Cato tells me. "You must not be very good with the cold."

I have to try really hard not to laugh at him. I grew up in the north, where the liquid inside your eyes can freeze if you're stupid enough to step outside during a storm. This is what it feels like in high summer - if you're really lucky. I'm not feeling this at all. It would have to drop another twenty degrees before I even felt the chill. Then I look down at my hand and all the laughter drains from me.

Instead of being a healthy pink, my fingernails are dead white, darkening to bitter blue near the cuticles. This is another symptom of radiation sickness; the blood stops carrying oxygen as efficiently, and as a result, the body begins to restrict the blood flow to the extremities. If radiation sickness can't get you with the hemorrhaging, it starts to take you apart in other ways. Damn thing is like the Gamemakers. It just doesn't give up.

"Yeah," I say to Cato. "I'm terrible with the cold. It just cuts me up."

He nods. "How long will it be before the others wake up? We've got tributes to catch."

"Tomorrow," I say. "You woke up early." I yawn. "I'm going to get to bed, all right? It's exhausting, fighting off wild animals and saving people's lives."

"All right. See you in the morning."

"So I guess that means you're not going to kill me?" I can't resist.

Cato rolls his eyes. "Just go to sleep, Spirit."

I drag my sleeping bag out of my unused tent and lay it out by the remnants of the fire. I lie on my back and stare up at constellations that don't make sense to me, breathing into my cold hands and to warm them up and finally falling asleep.


	15. Right and Wrong

A/N: Thanks to bigtimecrazy123, beachchick3, Dragon K1ss3s, Guest (although I know exactly who you are and you just didn't want to log in), and -Effy for the reviews.

* * *

It's night and we're hunting again. While I was sleeping last night, Cato apparently saw the boy from District Ten spying on us. Unfortunately, the boy from Ten saw him, too, and he booked it into the woods as soon as he knew he'd been spotted. By the time I woke up, Cato was tearing around the camp like a caged lion, alternately trying to poke the others awake, yelling at District Three, and planning the hunt. Oddly enough, he didn't try to wake me up.

It was almost noon before Lief and Clove woke up, and they were pretty wobbly. I made them go take baths in the lake, and while they were gone, Marvel awakened as well, announcing his presence by vomiting right into the fire pit. The resulting smell took at least another hour to air out, and by the time I got some food into all three of them and sent Marvel off for his bath, it was dusk, the anthem was playing, and Cato was going stir-crazy for want of a hunting party.

"Calm down," I told him. "District Ten has a bad leg. It's not like he's going to be able to get that far."

Cato looked at me like I was crazy. "I saw him _last night_, Spirit. He could be miles away by now."

I rolled my eyes. There was no reasoning with him in that state. Lief, his hair still wet from his swim in the lake, wandered over to me, munching on a piece of dried fruit. "So," he said, raising his eyebrows at me. "Anything interesting happen while I was out?"

That was the point where I should have told him about the mutt bite, the radiation sickness, my fight with Cato and our subsequent reconciliation. But I didn't. Instead I blanked my mind, shrugged, and said, "Nothing much."

Cato shot me a funny look when I said that, but he didn't blow my cover. He just wandered off, muttering about Marvel and how it shouldn't take this long to have a bath.

I could feel Lief reaching out for me, clawing at the emptiness I projected with clumsy thoughts, and he hasn't let up since. He's been picking at it for hours now, hoping to catch me off-guard, trying to discover whatever it is I'm hiding. He can tell I'm hiding something, but at this point, I think he's decided that it's unimportant or a trick of his own mind, brought on by residual tracker-jacker poisoning. Either way, he's been leaving me alone, and for that I'm grateful. It's hard to think of nothing every time he thinks my way.

I'm still not sure why I didn't tell him the truth. The fight with Cato was seemingly inconsequential, and since it ended up bringing us a little closer, it would've made him happy. But I never like telling Lief about any event where my emotions are engaged, and since he thinks I'm with the program, I see no reason to give him this extra bit of information. For sure it won't do anything but give him more ammunition to make fun of me with.

The radiation sickness, though…I don't have any excuse for not giving him a heads-up about that. The fact that I'm breaking with radiation sickness now, in the middle of the most important operation any northerner has ever undertaken, is a potentially plan-ruining disaster, and as my partner, Lief should know about it.

I can't tell him, though. If I do, he'll try to take control of the mission, and while Lief is many things, a natural leader isn't one of them. He doesn't know how to make people listen to him, trust him, doesn't know how to shoot down a bad idea without alienating the person who came up with it. He could ruin this all on his own, without me having to help in the slightest. He and I both know that I'm the one holding our alliance with the Careers together.

Lief is the best tracker among us, so he's taking point, following the trail left by the boy from District Ten. "This guy wasn't being careful at all," he comments, pointing to a broken branch.

"Yeah, no wonder he wasn't," I mutter. "Cato probably scared the hell out of him."

Cato is so excited to be chasing after another tribute that he doesn't even respond. He shifts from foot to foot, obviously eager to get moving again. "So which way did he go? Or can't you tell?"

"That'll be easy," Lief says. "We'll just find the next broken branch. And the left-foot prints are really deep, because his right is crippled and he puts too much weight on the other side."

"How long will it be before we catch him?" Clove says, covering a yawn with her hand. "I'm tired."

"Oh, come on," Cato complains. "You've been asleep for the past two days, and you're tired?"

"Well, that wasn't exactly restful," Clove fires back. "Just because you were done with it in fifteen hours -"

"Guys, cut it out," I break in. "We still have to find District Ten."

And just like that, Cato is back on the hunt. He's refreshingly easy to redirect, unlike Lief, who seems to think that I'm distracted right now and is back to poking at my mind. _Cut it out_, I tell him. _I'm not hiding anything_.

Lief shakes his head. _Maybe it's just the stupid wasps. Sorry, Spirit_.

Lief has come to a stop again. "Hey, super tracker," Marvel says. "Let's get going. I've only got three kills for the Games and I need more."

The darkness is getting difficult to deal with, and our flashlights are running out of batteries. Clove suggests that I light up one of the magnesium flares, but I point out that the flares are pretty bright, and they could alert the boy from District Ten to our presence. Then Cato points out that it might be good if District Ten knows that we're coming - that way he might run away and make some noise, and he'd be easier to find. I don't want to start another argument, so I let it be. And besides, he sort of has a point.

I light up the flare and everyone swears, squeezing their eyes shut, and yelling at me to shut it off. "I can't shut it off," I tell them. "Just get used to it."

Lief drops to the ground, feeling for footprints, then sits up, cursing. "Dammit. I can't see a thing. That stupid flare ruined my eyes."

"You're blaming me?" I say incredulously. "Who's idea was the flare, anyway?"

As it turns out, Lief's night vision is irrelevant. We don't need to find the boy from District Ten. He finds us.

Dawn is fast approaching and even though the sky is still dark, I can tell that the day is going to be boiling hot. I'm starting to think we should just give it up and head back to camp when the absence of Clove's footsteps behind me alerts me that something's gone wrong. I turn around to find her caught in a headlock, the boy from District Ten slowly strangling the life out of her. He must have been stalking us this whole time.

I draw one of my hammers and prepare to throw, but the boy from District Ten swings Clove around, using her as a shield. I can't throw now without hitting her, and all this time she's choking to death.

"Spirit," Lief says quietly. "Get down."

I hit the deck, preparing for all hell to break loose, because that's what usually happens when Lief tells me to duck. Instead I hear the whistle of a knife flying over my head, and the boy from District Ten's scream.

The knife embeds itself in his right thigh and he crumples, letting go of Clove and using both hands to pull it out. Clove, never helpless, draws one of her own knives and lets it fly into his face. It hits him in the mouth and his scream is abruptly cut off. The cannon sounds. It's over.

"Well," Lief says into the following silence. "That was…anticlimactic."

"Tell me about it," Cato mutters. I can tell that he was looking forward to a protracted battle, and now that it's done so quickly, he's got nothing to do with all the adrenaline he was storing up. "Lief, Clove, get your knives out of the body. They'll be by to pick it up soon. Let's head back."

Almost immediately after the hovercraft bearing District Ten's body disappears, the anthem plays and the seal shines in the sky. District Ten's face won't appear until nightfall. Lief and Clove are both giddy about their kill, but Marvel stumps along in silence, my arm is starting to ache again, and Cato's mood seems to be worsening by the minute.

"What's your problem?" I finally ask. "You've got plenty of kills."

"It's not that," he says. "It's just - I should have listened to you, okay? If we'd done what you said and not used the flare, he never would have been able to sneak up on us. Somebody could've gotten killed."

_Somebody did get killed, and isn't that the point?_

"It was a mistake," I tell him. "Just like my moronic idea for us to sleep in that hollow back on the third day. It happens."

"Not to me."

District Three is passed out in his tent when we get back, and I envy him his good night's sleep. I've been sleeping sporadically at best since the Games begun, and right now, what I want is to crawl into my sleeping bag and stay there for the rest of the day. That's a luxury I can't afford, and instead, I steal the controller from District Three and use it to deactivate the mines. Then I put it back and walk up to the food pile.

Cato joins me a few minutes later, as I'm frowning at a bin of potatoes balanced partway up. "What's wrong?"

"I could've sworn there were more of these last night," I say. The bin was mostly full last time, and now it's half-empty.

"Maybe District Three was sneaking food."

"I doubt it," I say. "He's smarter than that."

"Don't give him too much credit," Cato says. "He teamed up with us, after all."

I smile a little, but my mind is still on the missing potatoes. Someone's figured out a way through the mines, and they're using the food pile, taking food when they think no one's watching. Even though I've been on alert, it would be easy enough to slip through. I wonder who it is. And then I decide it doesn't matter. It's just one more person whose plans will be shattered when the food pile explodes.

Come to think of it, that should be sometime today.

After everyone comes up to the pile to get their breakfast, I bring my backpack and fill it with things that won't spoil; potatoes and dried meat and dried fruit. I need to save as much food as I can, because the snares I know and the fish trap I'll make once the food pile is gone won't be enough to keep four hungry people going. Let the people watching in District Two think that I'm hoarding, taking food out of their tributes' mouths. They'll be thanking me later.

I'm milling anxiously around the campsite an hour later, wondering what's taking Katniss so long, when Marvel starts yelling. One of his stinger lumps is on his throat, and while the swelling's gone way down, his speech is still a little garbled, so he hasn't been talking much. We all gather around him, trying to figure out what he's saying. Then he points at the sky to the northeast - more specifically, at the column of thick smoke rising into the air.

The Careers, who have been mostly sluggish since we got back, burst into action. Clove douses the fire pit so the camp won't burn down in our absence. Lief goes into District Three's tent and shakes him awake, not leaving until the boy has activated the mines again. Marvel runs around, gathering up our discarded weapons and shoving them into our hands. And Cato stares fixedly at the smoke, as though it might go away if he takes his eyes off it.

I scoop up my hammers, stuffing them into my belt, and swing my food-stuffed pack onto my shoulders, wincing at the weight. Then I spot Cato's sword lying discarded by his tent, where he tossed it in a fit of temper when he thought no one was looking, and pick it up.

"Thanks," he says when I hand it to him. The others have arrived as well, forming a half-circle around us. "Let's go. Wait, we're missing somebody. Where's District Three?"

District Three, whose plan seems to have been to retreat back into his tent for a nice nap as soon as we left, panics. "I'm not going! I have to stay here."

"We can leave him," Clove says. "He'll slow us down."

"Yeah, let's leave him," Lief adds. "We have to move fast, before whoever set that fire realizes how stupid they're being."

"He's coming," Cato says. "We need him in the woods, and his job's done here anyway. No one can touch those supplies."

"What about Lover Boy?" Marvel says.

"I keep telling you, forget about him," Cato says. "I know where I cut him. It's a miracle he hasn't bled to death yet. At any rate, he's in no shape to raid us."

"Thresh," I remind him quietly. Cato, to his credit, doesn't blanch like everyone else does at the mention of the massive tribute's name.

"He hasn't come out of the grasslands since the Games started," Cato points out. "Why would he come out now? And even if he did, District Three wouldn't be any help."

He looks around at everyone, and we all nod our assent, somewhat grudgingly, in the case of Lief and Clove. District Three looks absolutely petrified as Cato hands him a spear.

"Come on," he says. We move off in a group, heading for the woods and the fire starter, some foolish tribute who didn't hear the cannon or assumed the boy from District Ten died of natural causes. Cato, however, seems to have a different idea of which tribute is sending up smoke signals.

"When we find her," he says, "I kill her in my own way and no one interferes."

"I don't think it's her," I say, knowing full well that he's talking about Katniss Everdeen. "You may not like her, but she isn't stupid."

Cato just shakes his head and continues through the trees.

Half an hour passes. We move through the woods at a light jog, Cato in the lead. I trail behind, breathing hard, catching breaks whenever I can. Lief, absorbed in a strategy discussion with Clove, doesn't notice, and the boy from District Three is the only one who comments on my condition.

"Are you okay, Spirit?" he asks.

"Fine," I gasp, waving him forward. He looks back at me, concerned, but picks up the pace again, leaving me lagging in the rear of the group.

"Ugh," Clove says after a few more minutes. "Why does it have to be so damn hot?"

Lief flaps his jacket in front of his face like a fan, his normally pale skin brilliantly red. "No idea."

The day is fulfilling its early promise of being hotter than hell. The temperature alone is bad enough, but on top of that, it's humid, too, and every breath I take makes me feel like I'm drowning. Not that my attempted hyperventilation is having any effect. I'm dizzy and I have a pounding headache. And despite the soaring temperature, my hands are as cold as ice.

Marvel and Cato both strip off their shirts, but Lief, conscious of the bullet scar on his shoulder, keeps his on. "This isn't getting us anywhere," he complains. "We ought to split up. Hunt separately."

"Safety in numbers," Cato reminds him. "District Twelve could probably pick us off one by one if we gave her the chance. If we're in a group we'll be harder to kill."

"If we're in a group, we'll never catch up to her!"

"Guys, stop it," Clove says. She's pointing skyward. "Look."

A second column of smoke, identical in form and color to the first, is rising in the sky to the west. Cato frowns at it, and I can tell that it's starting to dawn on him that something about this is off. "Why would somebody be lighting fires in the middle of the day?"

"Maybe it's a trap," Lief says. "They could be trying to lure us out."

"Why would they try that?" Cato says. "Thresh stays in the grass, Lover Boy is on his way out. Who's left?"

"District Twelve. District Eleven. And the girl from Five," I say. "Maybe they've teamed up."

"But why would they try to -" Cato stops talking as it hits him. "The supplies!"

He spins around, ready to bolt, but I get in his way. Cato isn't the kind of person who can stop on a dime, and he knocks me to the ground and trips over me, falling flat on his face. Anything to give Katniss a few more minutes.

"Sorry," I manage, getting up and hoping that the footprint on my ribs won't cause too bad of a bruise.

Cato pushes himself up on his elbows and stands as well. "No, it was my fault," he apologizes, and then he gets right back on the subject of the supplies. "We have to get back now! This is a trap!"

"It's not a trap," I say, praying that whatever Katniss is going to do, she'll do it fast. I don't know how long I can keep Cato from running back. "Everything's going to be -"

Before I can finish my sentence, the woods go eerily silent. Then, like a roll of thunder after a lightning strike that hit a little too close to home, the explosions begin, loud enough that the ground shakes and I feel the vibrations in my bones. I know for certain that it's happened, that Katniss has destroyed the supplies, and that yet another turning point has passed without any major changes to the outcome of the Games.

Everyone is frozen and silent, all heads turned back in the direction we came from. Everyone except Cato. He's still staring at me, and the expression on his face is strange, considering the situation. It should be terror, anger, panic. Instead, it's almost like betrayal. For one second, I know exactly what he's thinking - _You told me it would be okay_.

And then he runs, crashing through the woods toward the base camp, and the others follow him, leaving me standing alone among the trees.

I'm the last one to reach the plain. I took several breaks along the way, partly because my chest was hurting too much to keep running, partly because I knew that all the speed in the world wouldn't change what I'd see when I arrived. It looks like a disaster area; a massive crater in the ground, heaps of unrecognizable objects still smoldering. The scene reminds me a little too much of what northern settlements look like after they've been bombed. Except in those, there are bodies, too.

The way Cato is carrying on, you'd think that somebody had just bombed District Two. When I first got here, he was actually beating his fists on the ground, but now he's moved to a slightly more constructive phase of his fit; kicking the various piles of ruined supplies. This at least has the effect of moving things around.

I pick through the debris, searching for anything that might still be useful. Clove, Marvel, and Lief are doing the same thing, and while the Careers aren't coming up with much, Lief and I find a wealth of items. Lief has some spearheads and a length of chain with a spiked ball attached that looks like it came off of a flail. When I overturn a charred bin, I come up with a real find; a roll of wire that's mostly intact.

"Look at this," I say to Lief, shaking it at him. "I can build us a fish trap with this thing. And some better snares."

"Good, we'll need them," Lief says. "The food's a total loss, but at least we have some weapons." He frowns, glancing at something over my shoulder. "Oh, and Spirit? I think your boyfriend's blown a fuse."

"He's not my boyfriend!" I snap, then turn around.

Cato is advancing on the boy from District Three. "This is your fault! You said you knew how to keep the supplies safe!"

"I did! It's not my fault! Someone must have messed it up!" shrieks District Three, backing up. But he seems to know that the punishment for his failure will be death. He turns to me, pure terror in his eyes. "Don't let him kill me, Spirit! Help me, please, help me, I don't want to -"

He gets three steps toward me before Cato grabs him from behind, putting him in a headlock and giving his neck a vicious twist. The snap of District Three's spine is unbelievably loud, and he falls to the ground at my feet, his eyes already glazing over.

The cannon fires, and we back away to allow the hovercraft to retrieve the body. All of us except Cato, who prowls in a circle, hands fisted at his sides. Even after the hovercraft vanishes, I can't get District Three's final moments out of my head. He was begging me for help. Hoping for me to save him. And I just let him die.

I can't appear to be affected by his death. I smooth out my features and turn to those of us who haven't been unhinged by the destruction of the supplies. "What do we do now?"

"Well, obviously, we need to get Cato under control," Clove says, jerking her thumb at her district partner. "Spirit, I think you should do it."

"Why her?" Lief says. "He's completely lost his mind. What if he tries to -"

"I can handle it," I interrupt him, and walk back toward Cato, avoiding an oil bin that looks like it might explode at any minute.

"Cato," I say calmly once I'm within a few feet of him. He looks up. Good. At least he's listening. "It's okay. This isn't the end of the world. We can still -"

He laughs, and I hear a note of hysteria in the sound. "Are you kidding, Spirit? We're screwed. We don't have food, we don't have weapons - it's over!"

I step in close and slap him across the face. As comically cheesy as it is - people in pre-war books do this all the time - sometimes a good sharp shock is the only way to bring someone back to their senses. I had to slap Valentine on plenty of occasions. Except Valentine was never quite as homicidally crazy as Cato is right now.

Cato stares at me. "What the hell was that for?"

"You need to take it down a notch," I say, preparing myself to duck, because it looks like he's going to take a swing at me. "This isn't over, and if you'll stop freaking out, I'll tell you why."

Cato takes a deep breath, then another, and the rage slowly drains from his face. Far from looking like he's ready to punch me out, he looks like he's about to cry. To avoid that, I immediately call the others over, knowing that he won't go to pieces in front of them. "We need to figure out what to do."

"I know what I'm going to do," Marvel declares. "I'm going to find the person who did this and pull their guts out."

"What makes you think they're still alive?" Lief says. "They could've died blowing the supplies up, and there were so many explosions that it would've been easy to miss the cannon."

"So what do we do?" Clove asks.

"We can wait," I suggest. "At nightfall they'll show the death recap, and then we'll know."

We move away from the wreckage and sit down on the other side of the lake. It's still late afternoon, meaning that we've got another hour or so before sundown. The Careers look pretty gloomy, and I can hear somebody's stomach gurgling. It's time to address the issue of food, but nobody wants to bring it up.

Clove is the one to finally ask it. "What are we going to do for food?"

"We'll be okay for a bit," I say. I sling my backpack off my shoulders and open it. "I saved this much."

Marvel lunges for the food. I drag the backpack out of range and plant a hand on his forehead, shoving him away.

"I'm hungry," he protests.

"You guys are going to have to fix your definition of hungry," Lief warns. "No more three meals a day. The food Spirit has won't last forever."

Cato's been quiet this whole time, but now he looks up. "Why did you save that food, Spirit?"

Uh-oh. "I didn't trust District Three," I say. "There was something sneaky about him. I thought it was best to be prepared."

Hearing those words coming out of my mouth, I cringe. My people consider it unwise to speak ill of the dead, and after Valentine's recent incursions into both my dreams and my thoughts, I'm not generally one to risk it. But Cato believes me, and that's what matters.

"Okay, I get it," Marvel says. "We don't have much food. So how do we get more food?"

The Careers all look at us expectantly. Lief and I exchange a glance. The dynamic of this alliance has been suddenly and shockingly inverted; now the Careers are depending on us to keep them alive. Lief begins to explain about hunting, while I talk about snares and fish traps and how to know when you're actually hungry versus just wanting something to chew on. And we wait for nightfall.

The sun sets, the seal appears, the anthem plays. The face of the boy from District Three shines in the sky, followed by the boy from District Ten. And no more.

"You were right," Lief says to Marvel. "The person who wrecked our supplies is still alive."

Cato, mostly listless for the last hour, rockets to his feet, grabbing for his sword. "Let's go get them, then."

The rest of us scramble to our feet, but Marvel stays resolutely put. "What about dinner?"

Cato gapes at him. "Is food all you think about?"

"We'll get some berries on the way," I tell Marvel, rolling my eyes. "Let's just go."


	16. People Say

A/N: Thanks to bigtimecrazy123, -Effy, HermioneandMarcus, Impish Wisdoms, and power-to-the-platypi12 for reviewing.

* * *

The sound of the cannon shatters the silence of the forest, and instantly, I'm spinning in a circle, making sure I'm not being followed. This idea of splitting up to hunt was stupid. I told Marvel that, but he didn't listen. And now someone is dead. But who?

I'm willing to bet that it's Rue, the little girl from District Eleven. She's the last death I'm sure of. After her, I only know the major events that will occur in the Games, not when the deaths will happen. From now on, I have three distinguishing events to work with; the announcement that two tributes from the same district can take the crown, the feast, and the final fight with the mutts. I know who will be alive then. Lief and I, Katniss and Peeta, and Cato. The others - they'll die sometime between then and now.

I lift my hammer and give it a practice swing, to warn anybody who's watching that I'm ready to fight. Rue's death probably didn't occur anywhere near here, and it was probably a Career who took her out, but on the off chance that it was Thresh or Katniss who killed her, I need to be on my guard. The girl from District Five isn't a threat. I haven't even seen her since the Games started.

Heavy footsteps from my right startle me, and I whip around, ducking behind a tree and taking aim at the hulking figure that appears from the underbrush. The figure carries a glinting piece of metal in one hand - a sword. There's only one tribute in these Games who uses a sword. I step out of my hiding spot. "Cato?"

He spins to face me. "Spirit?"

Cato is breathing hard, little rivulets of sweat streaking off his forehead. He's clearly been running hard for at least a few minutes, and despite the fact that someone else has just died or been killed, the expression on his face is inexplicably of relief. "So the cannon wasn't you, then?"

"Not unless somebody took you out, too," I say. "Have you seen the others?"

"Saw Lief and Clove a minute ago. When they heard the cannon, they went to the stream. We were all supposed to meet there if something happened. Remember?"

"Yeah, I remember," I say. "I just didn't think charging headlong through the woods was the best course of action. Whoever killed the last one could still be hanging around."

"I think it was Marvel," Cato says. "And if it's him, we won't have to listen to him complaining about how he doesn't have enough kills."

He holds out a hand to me. "Come on, Spirit. Let's go back."

I take the hand, give it a shake even though that clearly wasn't his intention, and brush past him, going for the stream. Valentine is haunting my steps even more closely these days, and I feel like it's Cato who's drawing him in. When Cato isn't around, Valentine mostly stays away, except when he thinks I might die. Then he's all over it. He's starting to get annoying, and Cato's weird behavior around me seems to only encourage him. I think Valentine understands how I feel about Cato, and he wants to warn the boy from District Two that his best chance of survival is to get rid of me fast.

I wish he'd just stay out of it. Now that I have radiation sickness, my chances of survival are dropping like the temperature before a blizzard.

Cato and I are almost back to the gathering spot when the second cannon sounds. We turn to face each other, determining that the cannon wasn't for either of us, and then we bolt for the stream.

Lief and Clove are both there, Clove looking worried, Lief bewildered. "Who was that one for?" Clove asks.

"I don't know," I murmur. For some reason, my head is spinning.

"Two kills in five minutes? Who's doing this?" Lief says. "You don't think it could be Thresh, do you?"

Cato, for the first time, looks nervous. "It could be. But there are four of us and one of him; I don't think he'll try anything."

"We should stick together," I suggest. "And get out in the open. I don't like it in here."

"All right," Cato says, and he and the others move to walk back along the stream, down to the lake.

The first thing that happens is my vision going black. Then I feel the pain, an awful tightness in my chest, beginning at my sternum and radiating out until it feels like my chest is wrapped in live wires. I feel my knees hit the ground, and I wonder for a second if I've been shot - but then my eyes open, and I can make out the world again. I realize that this feeling is familiar to me. It's the way I felt in training up north after someone choked me out. I passed out from lack of oxygen.

For a second, the forest fades, and I see the outline of winter-bare trees, the ground covered in snow. An indistinct figure standing before me, whispering, _Not long now, my love_.

I gasp for air, my shoulders straining forward, and at the same time, I know that this is ridiculous. My lungs are filling - I can feel them expanding - and yet I still have fuzzy spots in my vision, as though I've suddenly risen about ten thousand feet in elevation.

"Spirit, are you all right?" This is Lief, standing over me.

"Did you swallow something?" Cato demands.

"I'm okay," I manage. "I didn't swallow anything. I just passed out for a minute there."

"Have you eaten enough?" Lief says.

"Yeah -"

"I haven't seen you eat all day," Cato says. "You're lying. You gave your food to Marvel when you thought we weren't looking. No wonder you passed out."

I'd hoped they hadn't seen that, but it does provide an excellent excuse for why I collapsed. I don't want Lief thinking too hard about it. Despite being only half shape-changer, he knows the signs of radiation sickness as well as anyone, and this is definitely one of them.

Cato offers me his hand again, and this time I take it, letting him pull me to my feet. The whole way back to the lake, he stays close, as though he's expecting me to collapse again. This doesn't escape Lief's notice, and there's a smirk on his face and an extra spring in his step as we pick our way along the edge of the stream.

_What's so funny? _I snap at Lief.

_He's actually worried about you_, Lief says. _This is perfect. You couldn't be doing better if you tried. I loved how you faked fainting. That was a nice touch_.

_Thanks_, I say sarcastically. The bastard - he's not worried about me at all. He thinks I was playing it for the cameras. _I did it just for you_.

"Has that ever happened to you before?" Cato asks me.

"No. It was a fluke, I guess." What I don't mention is that this "fluke" will be occurring a lot more often as my blood breaks down. I can hold it off by eating a lot, sleeping well, and drinking more, but this being the Hunger Games, the likelihood that I'll get a chance to do any of those things is zero. I'll just have to tough it out and hope the next episode happens out of sight. And away from anyone who wants to kill me.

We settle on the far side of the lake and wait for nightfall. Life in the Career pack is pretty repetitive. Long periods of inaction, followed by fruitless hunts and a lot of waiting around to see who's dead, during which a lot of food is unnecessarily consumed. Only this time around, the food is gone, so everyone is hungry in addition to being bored. And it's down to four of us, which makes it awkward. I don't know about the others, but all I can think about is who's not here any longer.

"Guys," Clove says, "I think Marvel's dead."

"Dead? Why?" I say.

"He should've been back by now."

"Don't worry about him," Lief says. "The big lug will come clomping out of the woods any minute now."

"And if he doesn't, look at it this way," Cato adds. "If he's dead, that means we don't have to kill him."

As he says this, he shoots a covert glance in my direction. It can't have escaped his notice that we're down to eight people - and that the pool of other people who can kill me is rapidly shrinking.

"Even if it's not Marvel who's dead, we're final eight now," Clove says. "Wonder what they're saying about us back home?"

"My parents are probably bragging about me," Cato says, with the air of someone who's been dealing with it so long that he's starting to find it irritating. "My brother, too."

"You have a brother?" For some reason, I've always assumed that Cato is an only child. I guess I should assume less and ask more.

"Yeah. His name's Crow," Cato says. "He's training to be a Peacekeeper. He'll probably have shipped out by the time I get home."

Get home. Why didn't he say win? Saying that you're going to win is pretty straightforward. Getting home is a bit more ambiguous. You can go home as a victor…or you can go home in a box. Is it possible that Cato's famous confidence is getting shaky?

The fewer of us there are in the arena, the harder it is to ignore the fact that in order for one of us to win, the others have to die. It's made worse by the fact that we genuinely like each other.

"What about you, Clove?" Lief asks. "What'll they say about you?"

"Whatever they say, they'll be lying through their teeth," Clove says. "You see, nobody likes me very much. They'll hunt up my most photogenic classmates and have them pose for the cameras, pretending they all love me."

I imagine the Gamemakers, who are probably in District Two doing just that, desperately trying to spin Clove's comment, and I grin.

"That's how it is in District Two," Cato puts in. "If you go into battle training, you don't have friends. Everyone either sees you as competition or the future killer of their kids. There are family rivalries that go back decades."

"If it's any consolation, the Gamemakers will have a worse time interviewing for Lief and I," I say, trying to take my mind off this awfully depressing description of District Two. "Not only do we not have any friends, we don't have family, either. And street rats don't spill the secrets on their own kind."

Lief snags one of my hammers off my belt and stands up, holding it in front of him like a pretend microphone. "Hello, citizens of Panem," he chirps in an exaggerated Capitol accent. "I'm here today in District Seven to get a little back-story on Spirit Emerson and Lief Holbrook, their fabulous tributes. You, sir -" here he points the microphone/hammer at me "- what can you tell us about Spirit and Lief?"

I clear my throat, put on my best District Seven accent, and slur, "Damn street rats won't stay off my lawn!"

Clove and Cato both howl with laughter. The joke wasn't my funniest, but we're in a tense situation here, and any humor is appreciated.

"Come on, Spirit," Cato says, "it won't be that bad."

"Just you wait," I mutter. "Once you win and they show the recap, you'll see."

A second too late, I realize what I've said. Publicly placing my bet on Cato probably wasn't the best move for me at this point, but it serves to remind me that I shouldn't be visualizing him in the victor's chair. District Seven and District Twelve must win. I can't get too attached to him. I need to be more like Lief.

The thing is, I think it's too late already.

Thankfully, nobody but Cato and the cameras caught my little mistake. Clove is still laughing at Lief's joke. Come to think of it, _Lief _is still laughing at Lief's joke. Ah, well. If he's cracking himself up, he'll be less likely to get in my way.

We all stop laughing as the anthem plays. The seal shines, and Marvel's face appears in the sky, followed by the little girl from District Eleven. They're both dead. Eight left now. Three district pairs and two people on their own. One Career pack of four and four others, scattered across the arena.

I look at it this way; that's four more people who have to die before I can consider my mission complete.

"Okay," Lief says to us. He's the only one who hasn't been silenced by Marvel's death. For some reason, it's shaken Cato and Clove more than Glimmer's demise did, and I think I know why - because with Glimmer, it was the tracker jackers who got her. Someone killed Marvel. Someone is hunting us. "Okay. Marvel's gone. What do we do?"

"I think we need to consider whether or not this alliance is still a good idea," Cato says carefully, determinedly not looking in my direction. "I mean, we're down to eight now."

"No," Clove says. "Somebody killed Marvel and that little girl from Eleven. Somebody's after us. We should stick together until either Thresh or that girl from Twelve are dead. Then we should split up. But not before then."

"Okay," Cato says. "Okay. That's a good idea. Let's do that. Do we have any food?"

This last is directed at me. "I don't know," I say. "Let me go check for you."

It comes out more biting than I intended. Everyone stares at me, because I'm generally the most easygoing member of the pack and they've never seen me get this angry over a small thing. Clove's stare looks more than a little amused, while Lief is downright angry and Cato just looks surprised.

"Come on, Spirit," Lief says, catching my arm and pulling me to my feet. "Let's go check the snares."

We set the snares on our way out this morning, a little way into the woods along the stream. Once we're out of earshot, Lief starts laughing. "You're amazing, Spirit, you know that?"

"Quiet," I tell him. "You don't know who might be out here."

Lief keep laughing. "He has got it so bad for you."

'He' being Cato, of course. "I think you're wrong. He just tried to break off the alliance - or didn't you notice?"

"Are you serious?" Lief stares at me, divines by the expression on my face that I am indeed serious, and proceeds to explain. "He broke it off because of you. There are eight people left, and he doesn't want to kill you, so he figures if the alliance gets broken, it won't come down to the two of you."

My skepticism must come through in my expression, because Lief shakes his head. "Your feelings are actually hurt, aren't they?"

"No!"

Lief smirks. "Whatever you say, Spirit. Come on, let's go check on the food."

As I'm pulling a squirrel out of one of the snares, Lief adds, "And anyway, the alliance will be over soon anyway, because of -"

I throw the squirrel at him, trying to stop him from announcing to the whole world that we know the Gamemakers are going to change the rules. It hits him in the face, and his sentence is cut off as he gags on its fluffy tail. After he manages to extract the squirrel, he glares at me and says, "Because we have to kill Thresh soon."

"Why Thresh?" I say idly, picking my way along the stream to the next snare. "Isn't Katniss the bigger threat?"

"She'll be harder to find," Lief says. "And plus, she'll probably be expecting it. Thresh won't. Big guys never do. Spirit…"

"What?"

"We need to figure out what we're going to do about Cato," Lief says. "Soon. This alliance can't last forever, and after that - well, he's a big competitor. What happens then?"

"We hope somebody else kills him, because we sure can't."

"Can't…or won't?" Lief says. He's studying me with a shrewd expression and a look in his eyes I don't like.

I ignore him. I just keep walking through the woods.

* * *

The next day, we don't do anything, and nothing happens. No bolt of lightning smites us down for not being interesting enough, and so we don't feel compelled to go out and try to narrow the field. Starting in mid-morning, we see a column of smoke rising in the air, but not even Cato suggests that we go after it. After what happened with the supplies, we know better. So that leaves the four of us with a problem none of us have yet experienced in these Games; boredom.

Lief and Clove have been deep in conversation since they woke up. They have this incredible ability to forget that at some point, they'll have to kill each other. Cato and I don't have selective amnesia and we're still awkward from me snapping at him last night, so we go off to our respective corners of the camp and try to occupy ourselves. For Cato, this means throwing sticks up in the air and hacking at them with his sword. For me, it means sitting down on the ground, working on my fish trap, and humming to myself. And trying not to think about my dreams.

Valentine is starting to get craftier. Rather than actually saying that he wants me dead, he makes the white forest look like the most wonderful place on earth. But no matter how he tries to spruce the place up, I can't forget the truth about it. It's like the hotel in that pre-war song; once you go there, you can't ever leave.

After a few minutes, I realize that not only am I thinking about that song, I'm actually singing the song, and I decide that I need to cut it out. While the Capitol seems to be one of those place where newness is all-important, there could always be some weirdo in there who loves pre-war music.

"How's your arm?" Cato asks me, wandering over.

"I haven't checked it." I'm not lying. At this point, I think no news is good news. "What do you think Lief and Clove are talking about over there?"

"Who knows?" Cato shrugs. "Clove's always had issues. It figures that she'd find her new best friend in the middle of the Hunger Games."

I shake my head. "I know Lief. He doesn't think of her as a friend. He knows she's dangerous, so he thinks it's better to be her ally than her enemy. She's survival. That's all."

Come to think of it, that's probably the way Lief views me.

Cato studies me. "You seen to know a lot about Lief. How long have you known him?"

"Too long. Lief and I go way back," I say. "We've known each other since we were kids."

The first time I met Lief was at my father's funeral. After my mother died, my father relocated me to Sanctuary so he could reenlist in the army, and I stayed in Abbess's compound, lurking in the corners and refusing to say anything. Nobody talked to me and I didn't talk to anyone else. And then one day, two soldiers from my father's unit came to Abbess's house and told me that my father was dead. Shot in the head by a Peacekeeper while defending the southernmost border ruins. Almost nine years later, I'd find myself defending that very outpost.

I went to see my father's body. I stared into his face, but even now, I couldn't tell you what he looked like. All I remember is the clean, dark hole in his forehead from where he'd been shot. Abbess tried to explain to me about death, and then, when I didn't respond and kept staring at the bullet hole, she tried to get me out of there. I wouldn't move until I'd extracted a promise from her.

"When they burn him, I want to light the fire," I said, and Abbess nodded.

In the northlands, we cremate our dead. The permafrost makes the ground too hard for burial, and we can't ruin our water supply by floating bodies down the rivers. They don't cremate in District Seven. I learned this specifically because Abbess told me that if I died in the Games, I wouldn't be burned. I'd be buried. I told her I didn't care.

I lit my father's pyre, and after that, everyone stood around, exchanging reminisces about my father. I couldn't say anything about him, because there was nothing I could remember. Lief came over to me. I knew him, of course, because he lived in Abbess's compound - he was her grandson - but he was a year older than I was, and I'd never said a word to him.

"I'm sorry about your dad," Lief said.

For some reason, this irritated me. "When someone's dead, you don't say you're sorry. You just say goodbye."

Cowed, Lief retreated under my onslaught, and our relationship just went downhill from there.

"So you aren't…dating him," Cato says.

For a second I'm shocked. Then I burst out laughing. "Lief? No. Are you crazy?"

"No," Cato says. "You two just seem awfully friendly for two people who should be trying to kill each other."

"You could say the same thing about us," I point out. Then, because we were actually having a civil conversation and I just ruined it, I pick up my fish trap again and get back to work.

As I try to twist a piece of wire into place, it snaps back and hits me across the cheek. I swear and clap my hand to my cheek, praying that it won't bleed. Then, in a momentary Cato-esque fit of rage, I toss the half-done fish trap away from me. I regret it almost instantly, because first of all, it's immature, and second, now it's dented on the side and I'm going to have to fix that, too.

"Let me see," Cato says. He peels my fingers away from the injury and studies it. "You've got a pretty nasty welt there, but it's not bleeding."

"Good," I say. His hand is warm and dry against my skin, almost comforting, but I realize how this must look and I move out from under it. "Thanks."

I retrieve my fish trap and start pulling at it, trying to straighten out the bent wires. "See, it's fine," I say to myself. "You haven't ruined anything."

I don't think I'm talking about the fish trap any longer.

Cato sits down next to me. "I wonder if they're annoyed that we're not doing anything."

"If they were annoyed, they'd do something about it," I say. "They probably think we deserve a break, and plus, four people died in the past two days. That should be enough to keep them happy."

"I wonder who killed Marvel," Cato says speculatively. "Whoever it is, I should thank them."

"It was probably Katniss," I say. "Still want to thank her?"

Cato shrugs. "I wasn't looking forward to killing him. He was strong."

"Yeah, I saw him chucking weights around during training," I comment. "Peeta from Twelve did the same thing. Wonder why he isn't dead yet?"

"If he isn't dead yet, he will be soon," Cato says. "I know where I cut him."

"So do I," I say mildly.

Cato blinks, then looks back at me. "Oh, right. You were there. So where'd I get him?"

I tap my upper left leg. "About here. But he bled all over me while he was getting away, so it's safe to say that he's in trouble."

"Why didn't you finish him off?" Cato demands, as if it's just occurred to him that Peeta got away - and on my watch, no less.

This annoys me. "I don't know, Cato," I say, "maybe because I was taking care of you?"

"I was fine," he says dismissively.

"You were stung out of your mind! If I'd left you alone, you could have -" I explode. Then I stop myself. "You know what? Forget it. Excuse me for caring."

There's a nasty silence. There seem to be a lot of these lately; between me and Lief, or me and Cato, or just me and Valentine's voice in my head. I know I shouldn't be acting like this.

I open my mouth to apologize, but Cato beats me to it. "I'm sorry. That was stupid," he says. "It's just…it's confusing. The stuff you do."

"Confusing?"

"It's like you're not trying to win," Cato says.

"If I were trying to lose, I could be doing a lot better at it," I point out.

"But why would you -" Cato begins. Then he stops talking. I'm used to this by now. Cato isn't exactly the most articulate person, and sometimes a thought gets out of his mouth before he realizes that it probably shouldn't have been said in the first place.

"Hey," Lief says to me from where he and Clove are sitting by the lake. "I'm hungry. Will you check the snares, Spirit? And maybe set the fish trap while you're at it?"

He follows this up by glaring at me. _Sheesh, Spirit, you're going to burst his brain. Take it down a notch_.

_Take what down a notch? _I snap, but Lief is laughing at something Clove's just said and he's no longer listening to me. I swear to myself, stand up, and head for the woods. Cato follows me. I don't think he'll try to kill me; he's unarmed and I have my hammers, but he's still twice my size and probably four times as strong. Needless to say, the whole situation makes me uncomfortable.

The snares are empty aside from a rabbit, which puts me in a bad mood, and I get picky about where I set the fish trap, which puts Cato in a bad mood. "How long is this going to take?"

"Do you want fish or not?" I say. I wedge it in between a few rocks in a fast spot and nail it down with more rocks. "Okay. I'm done. Happy now?"

When he doesn't snap back at me, I look up. Cato's been distracted by a bush of berries, and he's picking them. I've seen the berries somewhere before, and the memory triggers. A pile of berries resting in my palm, a faceless figure - my mother, I think - smacking them out of my hand. Warning me not to eat them, ever.

"Cato, stop. Those are poisonous."

He stops, the berries inches from his mouth. "You sure?"

"Go ahead. Eat them and find out," I say. "Not my problem."

I've just realized that I missed an excellent opportunity to kill Cato. If I'd let him eat the berries, he would have died. There wouldn't have been anything I could have done, and with a little luck, I could've convinced myself it wasn't my fault. But I blew it. If Lief - or, dammit, even Valentine - had been in my spot, he wouldn't have said a word. Me, I couldn't keep my mouth shut. What is wrong with me?

Cato studies the berries for a minute, and I can tell he's thinking about eating them in spite of my warning. Then he tosses them to the ground. "What do I care? It's just a bunch of stupid berries."

I'm pretty sure that his rudeness has less to do with the berries than it does with the fact that I've saved his life again.

Back at camp, we have to split the rabbit four ways, and that doesn't leave much for anyone. Even Lief and Clove are silent now. It's almost night, and as the sun goes down, I hear trumpets blow.

"You didn't imagine it," Lief says. "I heard it, too."

"Maybe it's a feast," Clove says. Now that Marvel's dead, she's taken over the position of resident glutton.

Cato shakes his head. "I don't think so."

The voice of Claudius Templesmith echoes through the forest. "Panem extends their congratulations to the remaining tributes. Your respective districts are very proud of you. The Gamemakers would like to me to announce a rule change."

"A rule change?" Cato says.

"Shh!" we all hiss.

"Under the rule change," Claudius continues, "two tributes may share the victor's crown if they are from the same district."

"What?" Clove says. She and Cato are both transfixed, staring into the sky as though it has some answers. But Lief and I understand, and we have to move. As soon as they realize what the announcer is saying, Cato and Clove will turn on us. They may not like it, but it's what they'll do. And we have to be gone by then.

I grab our packs, Lief takes our weapons. He reaches for Cato's sword and Clove's knives, discarded at their sides, but I slap his hand and give an emphatic shake of my head. Lief rolls his eyes and leaves the weapons. Then, packs in hand, we sprint for the woods. By the time Cato and Clove turn around to look for us, we're already into the trees.

"Come on, Spirit, you were the one who was worried about breaking off the alliance," Lief says as I stare at the tributes from District Two. Clove says something to Cato, after which he turns his back on her and walks away for a moment. "Looks like good old Claudius just did it for you."

I turn away. "Shut up, Lief."

Lief sighs. "You miss him already, don't you?"

"Shut up," I repeat. I face into the woods and take a deep breath. Cato is gone now, out of my reach, just like Valentine. As far as I'm concerned, he always has been. There's never been a way for both of us to live. "Come on, Lief. They'll be after us soon. We'd better be far away by then."

"Okay, Spirit," Lief says carelessly, and he starts off into the trees.

I take another deep breath and follow him. The next phase of the Hunger Games is about to begin.


	17. Making Promises

A/N: Thanks to bigtimecrazy123, HermioneandMarcus, Appaloosa13 (x 14!), Effy, and Teleryn for reviewing.

* * *

Lief shuffles his feet nervously. "How about over here? Can I stand here?"

"Yeah, definitely," I say, rolling my eyes. "If you want to trip the snare. Just go back up the tree and stay out of my way."

Lief moves a few yards to the right and plants his feet. "I'm not going back to the tree. I'm covering you. What if somebody -"

"You could warn me just as well from the tree," I mutter. Then, louder, "And that stupid cough of yours is scaring off all the prey. I'll never catch anything with you hanging around. Go back. I'll be there in a minute."

Lief looks like he wants to argue with me, but he's hungry and he wants food, so there's no way he'll risk messing with the snare. Even after he's vanished into the trees, I can still hear him coughing.

Hell. It's only been half a day since we broke our alliance with District Two, and I'm already set to murder my counterpart. I suppose that back then, with Clove taking up his time, he was less annoying, but now he's got no one to focus his attention on but me. And I can't stand it.

Right from the get-go, he started bossing me around. Telling me to move the snares and the fish trap so Cato and Clove couldn't use them, telling me where to sleep, telling me to keep watch and then falling asleep himself. Now I remember why Lief was never very high in the command structure, why he switched out of the field and into communications the first chance he got. It's because he can't take orders. He has to give them.

Lief is smart, and he's not the kind of person to let you forget it. He's also annoyingly perceptive - courtesy of his mind-reading skill - and once he knows something, he holds his knowledge over you, ready to blackmail at any moment. That's no surprise; he's Abbess's grandson, and manipulation runs bone-deep in that family. After Valentine's death, the two of us were bound together by our shared desire to bring Panem down, but I'm only just realizing that he may be even more determined to achieve that goal than I am. He failed to kill Valentine. He has to prove himself worthy of being a northerner, worthy of his prestigious pedigree. He has a family back home, parents, siblings - even a girlfriend, although I've never met her. He has so much more to lose than I do.

I settle the snare trigger and decide to go to the tree before Lief comes back down and walks right into the trap. As I approach the tree, he's in the middle of a coughing fit, and he doesn't even hear me coming.

"Hey, Spirit," he says once the coughing's subsided. "Is the snare all set?"

"Yeah." I climb up into the tree and sit on the branch just above him. I'm worried about that cough. It started late last night and it's been getting steadily worse. "What about you? How are you feeling?"

"Well," Lief says, considering it, "I have the chills even though it's probably ninety degrees out here. I think I have a fever."

"I'll check." I reach out, planning to do the old palm-to-forehead check, but I pull my hand back before it can come into contact with his skin. Lief may not be a medic, but he knows the signs of radiation sickness just as well as any shape-changer, and my icy hands will give him a major hint that I've broken with it. And to my cold hands, even a normal body temperature would feel feverish. Lief is staring at me quizzically by this point, so I just say, "That won't work."

"What do you mean?"

"I just washed my hands in the stream," I lie, blanking my mind. "Everything feels warm right now."

Lief stares at me for a minute, then begins to rapidly retreat along his branch, a look of pure horror on his face. "You're going to kiss me?"

I burst out laughing; he apparently feels the same way about it as I do. "Trust me, I'm not that excited about it, either. Just hold still and I'll get it over with."

I lean down and press my lips against Lief's forehead. He was right; his skin is awfully warm. I draw back and say, "Yeah, you've got a fever. How long have you been feeling sick?"

"Since the tracker jackers," Lief says, coughing into his hand. "But it hasn't gotten bad until today."

I run through everything I know about tracker jackers, and there's nothing I can remember stating that the effects of the venom will hang on for nearly a week afterward. "Could something else have bitten you?"

I'm hoping he'll say no. Instead, Lief nods slowly. "Yeah. When I woke up after the tracker jackers, there was this weird little bug on my neck."

I really don't like the phrase "weird little bug". Especially not in this case. "What did it look like?"

"It had this tiny little head," Lief describes, holding up his hand to show how tiny, "and a huge body. When I tried to pull it off, it exploded or something."

"It popped?"

"Yeah. It popped. And its body was, like, full of blood." Suddenly, Lief blanches. "It was a tick, wasn't it? Doesn't that mean I have that wasting disease?"

"Not necessarily," I say, trying to stay calm. It won't do for Lief to see me freak out. "If it were the wasting disease, it wouldn't be breaking this fast. Remember, the wasting disease takes a really long time to get going. We still have a bunch of antibiotics in the med kit Johanna sent me. I'll give you a shot of one of those and we'll see what happens."

My bedside manner has certainly improved since I was kicked out of medic school. Lief calms down, and he allows me to inject the antibiotic without making too big of a fuss - a miracle, since he's terrified of needles. As I put away the empty syringe, I'm aware that I've just squandered the medicine. Lief has the wasting disease, and the wasting disease is resistant to antibiotics. Only drugs from the Capitol will cure it, and I'm positive I won't be able to get any from the sponsors. All the high-octane antics in the world won't squeeze that out of them.

Lief with the wasting disease. Me and my radiation sickness. We're screwed.

"Spirit," Lief says drowsily, "Do you miss him?"

"Who?"

"Cato. Valentine. Whatever you're calling him these days," Lief says. "You've been crabby ever since we left. Is that why?"

"No, I'm crabby because I have to take care of you," I shoot back. "You're pretty high-maintenance, Lief."

I imitate him in a high-pitched voice. "This branch is too knobby. The water tastes strange." I drop the voice and add, "Taking care of you is like taking care of an old woman!"

Lief makes a face. "And you're such a picnic? You and all your mooning about Valentine -"

"Stop talking about him." My voice is flat, cold, like the pack ice that locks in the coast during the northern winters. There's a lot I'll do to keep things nice with Lief, but talking about this isn't one of them. "I think about him enough without you bringing it up."

"Who are we talking about now? Cato or Valentine?" Far from being sleepy, Lief is now wide awake, turning all his attention on me.

This isn't going to work. "Neither," I say. "We're not talking about this any more."

Lief shrugs. "Suit yourself, Spirit. I'm going to bed. Wake me up if -" he yawns "- if anything happens."

And just like that, the conversation dries up. I almost wish it hadn't; now I'm thinking about Valentine, and with my district partner already asleep and snoring, there's no way to get my mind off him.

The first time I met Valentine, I was fourteen. He was from one of the settlements in the far north, so far from the border ruins that he'd never seen the Peacekeepers or the mutts - only heard stories about what they'd done. You could tell he was far northern just by looking at him. He had that fine, silky blond hair and those stone gray eyes, and you only ever saw those features together on people who came from above the Arctic Circle.

He headed south when he was fifteen, to be a soldier and kill Peacekeepers. I was fourteen and already a field commander, young for my position. I hadn't been chosen for any particular battle skills I possessed; it was because our former commander had been killed in the last attack and I was the only one in our unit who hadn't burst into tears at the sight of his mutt-mangled body. The elders decided I was a natural leader and put me in charge. And then they dumped Valentine on me.

I was less than thrilled. I'd barely begun to trust the people under my command, and two days before we were about to ship out to our guard post at the southern border ruins - the same place my father had died - they offloaded this tundra kid into my unit, a kid whose first action was to ask me when we'd fight some Peacekeepers.

"If we're lucky, never," I said. "We're supposed to protect the settlements, not engage with Panem."

Valentine's face fell. Then he took a second look at me. "Wait, how old are you?"

"My age is irrelevant," I said. Then I realized that I sounded like my drill sergeant - who I'd absolutely hated - and I amended it. "I'm fourteen."

"Fourteen? You mean my commander is a year younger than I am?"

"It would seem so," I said, reverting back to drill sergeant mode. "Valentine -"

"What's your name?" he asked, stepping closer to me, tilting his head to the side in a way that would become his trademark pose.

"Spirit Emerson," I said. Then, realizing that I'd forgotten my military title, "Captain Spirit Emerson."

"I've heard about you," Valentine said.

I shrugged. "Who hasn't?"

Even at fourteen, I was what passed for a legend among the northerners. An orphan full-blood shape-changer who, at all odds, survived to her teenage years, and not only that, became a military commander? There was a story the elders could use to inspire the people. The one thing they never mentioned was the way my story had to end. Not after a long, happy, peaceful life, but young, from the radiation sickness that killed my mother or the Peacekeepers' bullets that killed my father. There was no happily ever after for me.

I introduced Valentine to the unit, made sure they weren't going to cook him on a spit or something, and went straight to Abbess to complain. I don't know what I was expecting her to say, but when she told me that Valentine had to stay, I morphed out my claws and put a hole in the wall of her house. And of course, I apologized after I did it. Nobody crossed Abbess.

Life at our guard post was shockingly uneventful for the first three months we were there. Valentine got picked on for being the new guy, and more than once, I had to roll myself out of bed in the middle of the night and go untie him from some tree. We got to talking whenever that happened, and I found out that I genuinely liked him. Better than anyone else in my unit, at least.

Lief was the main culprit in the pranks on Valentine. He made it plain from the beginning that he and Valentine would not be friends, much in the same way he'd made it plain that he and I were rivals. In fairness to Lief, there wasn't much else he could've done after I'd rebuffed him. But it was different with Valentine; Lief hated him. I never did find out why.

A week into the fourth month of our deployment, Peacekeepers attacked us. They dropped a nest of tracker jackers into our camp by hovercraft, but I shape-changed into a body covered with impenetrable scales and drop-kicked the nest into the middle of their ground troops, negating whatever advantage that had given them. Then the mutts attacked from behind.

I'd stationed Valentine at the rear, away from the main attack, figuring he'd be less likely to die back there. But when the mutts charged in, he was surrounded, moments from death unless some kind of miracle took place. Since it was my fault he was back there, my mistake that put him in harm's way, I went in to save him, armed with a fallen Peacekeeper's gun and a clawed left hand. The machine gun I tossed to Valentine. I morphed out my other hand and went to work.

While I was saving Valentine's life, Lief was pursuing and capturing the hovercraft. We were both cited upon our return to the settlements, him for showing "initiative and courage", me for "actions above and beyond the call of duty". It was probably Lief's proudest moment. In his mind, it meant that he and I were finally even.

For Valentine and I, it had a different meaning. It was the moment we realized that we were important to each other.

An odd sound enters my hearing; rattling, like somebody shaking a bag full of stones. I look down at the branch below me and see Lief curled up, his teeth chattering, even though it's barely fifty degrees. The antibiotic isn't working.

I shrug off my jacket and drape it over him. I can weather the cold without it, and right now, him being comfortable is the most important thing. I'll just have to remember to take it back before he wakes up. Then I settle in for the night, leaning back against the tree trunk and willing myself to keep my eyes open.

* * *

The next morning, I wake up to Lief tugging on my sleeve. He's not complaining about having my jacket, which I would ordinarily count as a blessing - but based on the flush riding high on his cheekbones and the way his hands are shaking, it's because of the wasting disease, not any humanitarian impulse. And right now, I'd rather have the old crabby Lief than this passive, sick one.

"What?" I say.

"My throat," Lief manages, his voice raspy. "It really hurts."

_I'll give you something else that really hurts_, I think. A good kick in the ass. He's waking me up because his throat hurts? Granted, I shouldn't have been asleep in the first place, but still. "So what do you want me to do about it?"

"I drank all the water," Lief says. He coughs, and I feel a twinge of pity; it sounds like it really hurts him. "Could you please get some more?"

"Yeah. Sure," I say. It's not going to kill me to be nice to him. He is sick, after all, even if the wasting disease won't do anything but weaken him and make his life miserable. It doesn't kill. "Maybe I'll find some berries along the way. Sweet stuff helps when your throat hurts."

"Thanks." Then, as I'm passing his branch on my way down, he adds, "Don't forget your weapons, Spirit. People are out there."

I snort, but grab my hammers all the same. Cato and Clove are good, sure, but I'm good, too, and they know I'm out here. And they don't know that Lief's sick. As far as they know, we're hunting them together.

It's only when I'm out of the tree and moving through the woods toward the stream that the whole irony of this hits me. I'm taking care of Lief, when all his illness does is incapacitate him. Radiation sickness _will _kill me - in fact, it's working on it right now - and while I should be eating and resting and trying to make efficient use of my failing blood cells, I'm running Lief's errands. His throat hurts? I'll bleed out if I get even the smallest cut! And he has the audacity to ask things of me?

_This is what you get for not telling him_, Valentine points out. _But yes, he's absolutely insufferable_.

"You're not helping."

I lean back against a tree. Not only am I dying of radiation sickness in the middle of the Hunger Games, I have the voice of a dead man in my head. This couldn't get any stranger if it tried.

I continue to the stream and fill up the container. And since I've got nothing better to do, I check the fish trap as well. It's nearly full, stuffed with fat, wriggling fish. I take three of them and let the rest go. Lief and I wouldn't be able to eat all of them, and then I'd just be wasting fish. Besides, I can always catch more.

A rustling sound from off to my right catches my attention. It's too loud to be an animal, and the disturbance it's making in the undergrowth is too big, so it must be another tribute. Whoever it is, they're just leaving the stream, and they're not being too quiet about it.

I smirk. In the vein of ending these Games a little faster, I should probably take this person out. They don't know I'm here. It'll be almost too easy. And once I'm done, I can go get some water and berries to bring back to Lief.

I draw one of my hammers and begin to creep through the woods. My foot lands on a branch and there's a loud snap. I freeze, praying that the person I'm hunting a) isn't armed and b) assumed it was an animal that made the noise. Even deer have been known to step on a twig occasionally.

But there's no further noise from my prey, and I'm starting to think that they've disappeared back into the woods rather than attack me. Maybe it was the girl from District Five, weaponless, timid, non-confrontational. Or maybe it was Katniss, able to attack me but unwilling to do so, afraid she'd lead me straight back to Peeta, injured from Cato's attack and probably infected with who knows what by now.

There's a clearing up ahead. I'll see if I can pick up the trail there, but I'm not too committed to finding this person. If they're being this loud, chances are someone else will get them before I do, and I have to get back to Lief. In fact, I'm about to turn around and take a circuitous route back to the tree to look for some berries when the rustling returns, louder than before, coming from the trees across the clearing from me.

I'm just turning to run as Cato appears from the trees.

For a moment we stare at each other. Cato and I must have been tracking the same person, only now they've gotten away and tricked us into attacking each other. Either that or we were tracking each other the whole time. It doesn't matter. We're still facing each other, enemies now.

"Spirit?" Cato says. He looks like he's lost weight, although I know it can't be possible; it's been less than thirty-six hours since I saw him last. But he has a spear in his hand, and he can throw it almost double the distance between us now. If he takes aim at me, I don't have any options. I can't turn and run. Even if he misses his throw he'll follow me, and anyway, I don't have much distance in me now that my blood's breaking down. But he's not attacking. He's just staring at me like I've dropped out of the sky.

An idea occurs to me. I have three fish in my free hand; I drop one of them to the ground and prod it toward the middle of the clearing with my hammer. Then I slowly begin to back away, hoping that Cato will take the offering, hoping that he won't chase me. I don't know what I'll do if I have to fight him.

He doesn't follow. He looks at me, then at the fish, then back at me again.

"Goodbye," I whisper, and then I turn to run, weaving between the trees, leaping over the stream, and not stopping until my vision is covered with spots and I can't go any farther. I'm far out of my own territory now; it's rockier here, the forest seeded here and there with huge boulders. I sink down with my back against one of them and try to catch my breath. My eyes are burning, a hot, prickling feeling - almost like I've been breathing in smoke. I don't understand it.

Then I realize that I'm crying for the first time in awhile. I guess it's something you have to get used to, but I can't get used to it, because I have to stop it or else risk looking weak and stupid and lovesick in front of all of Panem. I suck in a breath of air, then another, swipe at my eyes, and slowly get to my feet, assessing the situation.

First mistake; I ran into Cato and didn't attack him. That's not the end of the world. We were allies, so it's okay that neither of us attacked the other one.

Second mistake; I gave him a fish. Okay, that wasn't the smartest thing to do, but it's also attributable to the fact that up until two days ago, we were allies. It might make sense that I'd be nice to him.

Third mistake; I said goodbye. That one is pretty much unforgivable, because I've been trying to cultivate this nothing-throws-me, puppet master aura throughout these Games - borrowing a lot of moves from Abbess in the process - and with one word I've blown it. Even with all of Lief's accusations that I'm in love with Cato, I haven't done anything to prove it. I worked hard to make sure it couldn't be proven by Lief or anyone else.

And then I went and proved it myself.

"I hate you," I say quietly. I'm not sure whether I'm talking to myself or Valentine or every nameless citizen of Panem whose actions toward my people have forced me to be here. But I hate somebody. And I'd better stop hating before I go back to the tree and take it all out on my poor, sick district partner.

I pick up one of the smaller boulders and heave it into the undergrowth. Then I find my way back to the stream, picking some blackberries along the way. I can't resist checking the clearing where I saw Cato to see if the fish is still there. It's gone, and I'm weirdly happy that he took it. The idea of him starving upsets me more than it should, but this time, thankfully, I keep my emotions from showing on my face.

By the time I make it back to the tree, Lief has gotten very nervous. So nervous, in fact, that he's attempting to make his way down from the tree - only he's forgotten the route, and he's stuck maybe ten feet down from his sleeping branch, unable to get to ground level or climb back up.

"You idiot," I say, looking up at him, wedged between two branches and coughing like an elephant seal with a cold. If it's possible, he looks even more pathetic now than he did when I left.

"I was worried," he says. "You were gone so long, I thought something happened to you."

"Nothing happened to me," I lie. The idea of telling Lief what happened is so idiotic that I don't even consider it. "I got more water, and some berries, and two fish. I'll come up and get you out of there, and then we can eat."

I scale the tree, set the supplies down on my branch, and turn my attention to the task of extricating Lief from his predicament. "Hell, you are _stuck_…What did you do, glue yourself in?"

"I fell," Lief says.

"Ouch."

I end up having to saw away some of the branch to free him, and by the time I get him back up on his branch, he's coughing again. I feed him some berries and make him drink water while I gut the fish. We eat our fish raw, and I take it as a good sign that Lief eats his whole fish and part of mine. I let him have it, even though I probably need it more.

"Thanks," Lief says after a while.

I'm picking my teeth with one of his knives to get the little fish bones out. "For what?"

"Looking after me."

"When have I not had to?"

Lief reaches up to my branch and smacks my arm. "Come on, Spirit. Learn to take a compliment from someone other than Valentine."

I glare down at him, to let him know he's crossed the line.

"Okay. Sheesh. Sorry. Tone down the death look, Spirit," Lief backpedals. "It's just weird. The way we talk about him like he's still here."

I imagine Valentine hearing those words and laughing, and an icy shiver traces up my spine. "How do we know he isn't?"

"Do you ever wonder…" Lief says, then trails off.

"What?"

"What would make him do something like that?"

I shrug. I've long since given up worrying about Valentine's motives. _You're the mind-reader. You tell me_.

Even though it's only mid-afternoon when the trumpets blow, Lief and I are both half-asleep, and as a result, the sound scares us both out of our minds. Lief almost falls off his branch _again_, and I scramble to climb higher into the tree before I realize that the other tributes will have been just as shocked as we are.

"The Gamemakers would like me to extend congratulations to the tributes of Districts Two, Five, Seven, Eleven, and Twelve," the announcers says. "And they would like me to announce a feast."

I look down at Lief, now twenty feet below me, and I know we're both thinking the same thing. Medicine.

"Now hold on. Some of you may already be declining my invitation. But this is no ordinary feast. Each of you needs something desperately. Each of you will find that something in a backpack marked with your district number, at the Cornucopia at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you, this will be your last chance."

As soon as he's done speaking, I climb back down to Lief's level. "What do you say? Do we go?"

Lief thinks about it. "On the one hand," he says, "we could really use some medicine for me. District Twelve will probably get medicine, too, unless Lover Boy's miraculously healed by now, and that'll probably count for both of them. I wonder what's going to be in your backpack, though? What do you need?"

He's rambling. "Lief, focus, okay?"

"Sorry," he says, and continues, "On the other hand, everyone who's left is going to be there. That includes our former friends from District Two, and the likelihood of you being able to kill them is about zip."

"Watch it," I tell him. "I have two kills and you don't have any. And what makes you think I'd be going in alone?"

Lief stares at me, and I burst out laughing. "You seriously thought I was going to go to the feast and leave you here? No way. We're going together or not at all. And it might be a good time to take out one of our other competitors."

"Thresh?" Lief says.

"Maybe," I say, humoring him, although I'm thinking that I need to get rid of Clove, and fast. She's the only person left who has a long-range weapon and actually enjoys killing. "So what do you say?"

Lief looks at me. "What are my chances without the medicine?"

"You won't die, but you'll get worse," I say bluntly. "All the problems you're having now will double, and I'll be taking care of you. It won't work. I can't win the Games and take care of you at the same time."

"Okay. We go," Lief says. "How close are we to the Cornucopia?"

"We can leave early in the morning. That'll give us time to hide out before dawn," I say. "You get some rest. I'll stay up."

"Spirit?" Lief reaches up and grabs my wrist, a weird, intense look on his face that I've never seen before.

"What?"

"Promise me something."

_"What?"_

"If you have a shot at Cato, take it," Lief says. "It has to end sometime, Spirit. The longer he's alive, the longer he has to mess with your head. If you have a chance, promise me you'll kill him tomorrow."

"Or what?"

"Or we don't go. I'm not going in there unless I know you can do what you have to."

I've never seen Lief be this serious about anything, and I understand that if I refuse, it's a deal-breaker. Even though he doesn't know about what happened today, he must know that something has changed. "Okay. I promise. Now get some sleep."

He rolls his eyes and flips over onto his stomach, and for a moment I think that's the end of it. I don't want him knowing that the promise I've just made is one that I have little intention of keeping. Then he says, "Sing something, Spirit."

"Sing something yourself. You know as many songs as I do." _And I'm not your servant_.

"But I don't know your songs," Lief says, yawning. "And yours are way better."

It's widely acknowledged amongst the northerners that my ancestors had better taste in music than Lief's, a fact that usually annoys the hell out of him. He must be really sick if he's actually admitting it.

"Fine," I mutter, and sing. He's snoring before I'm even done with the first line, and not for the first time, I think how useless he is. Even without his knowledge of what everyone is thinking, I could have stayed alive. I'm the one who remembers the way it's supposed to go, the one who keeps us on track, the one who watches out for the danger. I don't need him.

I keep singing to myself, mostly because singing calms me a little.

_I couldn't keep myself from making promises_

_ I'm of two hearts and up all night_

_ I couldn't keep myself from making promises_

_ I'm gonna get it right this time_

Then it occurs to me what I'm saying, and I'm awfully glad that Lief's not awake to hear me.


	18. The Dirty Work of Battle Hymns

A/N: This chapter is coming up a day early because I'll be stranded away from my computer on our usual update day. Things will return to normal next week, I promise! Thanks to bigtimecrazy123, Appaloosa13, BurningOn, Guest, and HermioneandMarcus for reviewing.

* * *

Next morning, when the sky is still dark, I shake Lief awake and we creep through the woods toward the plain and the Cornucopia. Lief's condition hasn't worsened overnight, and for some reason, he seems to be having second thoughts about going to the feast at all.

"This is stupid," he hisses at me. "We don't need anything. We're doing fine."

I cut my eyes at him. "Lief, every ten minutes you're hacking up your lungs. We need your medicine."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm fine. You know that I'm not going to die or anything."

"Yeah, and you also know that if we don't do something, you'll be incapacitated in a couple of days," I say. "You wanted your medicine last night. What's changed?"

Lief hesitates, then seems to decide something. "The last thing we need is for you to go near Cato again. It'll mess with your head. We should just go back to the tree."

"No. We're going in."

Lief sighs. He opens his mouth to say something else. Then he stops, coughs a bit, spits a mouthful of phlegm into the bushes, and says, "Wonder how District Two's been doing?"

"They're probably hungry," I say, wondering what Clove said when Cato brought back that fish. At this stage in the Games, Cato and Clove are actually at a disadvantage, because they can't feed themselves and they don't understand how to function while being hungry.

"We should've taken their weapons when we went," Lief mutters. "But no. You couldn't stand the thought of your precious Cato going weaponless -"

"Shut UP!" I say, louder than I should. The woods seem too silent all of a sudden, and Lief and I both grasp our weapons, waiting for some attacker to burst from the trees, drawn by the noise. When no one appears, I continue in a lower voice, "You're such a hypocrite. You and Clove were always making eyes at each other -"

"That's different."

"Yeah? How?"

"She was a means to an end," Lief says, refusing to rise to the bait. "If she'd become a danger, I would have taken her out. That's the difference between you and me, Spirit; I know where to draw the line. But you have to go and get attached."

I glare at him. I'm not sure how much of this is for the cameras and how much is actually real. I have no doubt that this is the real Lief I'm seeing. I've always known that Lief has the capacity to be just as calculating as Abbess, but as for his assertion that he could and would have killed Clove, I'm in doubt. I've never seen Lief kill anyone. Not in the north, not during the border wars, not during the Games.

And why would he, when he's got me to do it for him?

"It's almost dawn," Lief says. "Let's get ready."

We conceal ourselves opposite the mouth of the Cornucopia. The huddled form of the girl from District Five - I recognize her by her red hair - is visible inside. I'm tempted to kill her, but even I can't throw a hammer that far, and I don't want to break cover. Not to mention that the resulting cannon would start the feast before the backpacks are even in play.

Lief grabs my arm, his nails digging into my skin. "Spirit, look!"

The ground in front of the Cornucopia splits, a table rising from the earth. On it are seven backpacks. The smallest is orange, labeled with a twelve. The three largest are black, two of which are numbered with twos, the other with an eleven. One of the three medium-sized backpacks is green with a white five; the other two are blue, labeled with sevens. One each for Cato, Clove, Thresh, District Five, Lief and I. Lief was right about District Twelve sharing a backpack.

The girl from District Five comes tearing out of the Cornucopia. She grabs her backpack off the table and runs into the woods, straight for Lief and I. We dive sideways to avoid being trampled, and I get a glimpse of District Five's frightened eyes before she vanishes into the woods. I missed my chance to kill her, and now one tribute and backpack are safely away. Who's going to break cover next?

Katniss Everdeen must figure that she's at a disadvantage now that the smallest tribute has already gotten clear, so she chooses this moment to bolt from the woods, and at the same time, a dark figure runs out of the trees on our left. It's too small to be Thresh, Cato, or Peeta. Clove!

I decide it's time to put myself into the mix, to distract Clove and hopefully keep her from putting a knife into the girl on fire. "Cover me," I snap at Lief, and I run onto the plain.

Clove reaches the table first, but she knows she's being chased, and she spins around, knives in hand. Her eyes shift from me, to Katniss, then back to me. She can't decide who to throw at.

Our old alliance must overcome Clove's fear of me, because she throws at Katniss and misses. Katniss fires back and hits Clove in the upper arm, buying herself enough time to reach the table and collect her pack. She's already running for the trees again when Clove's second throw hits her in the forehead and opens up a gash. She collapses ten feet from the table and Clove moves to finish her off, leaving the table unguarded. Knowing it's time to make my move, I run to the table, my fingers closing around the strap of one of the blue backpacks. I swing it onto my shoulders and grab for the second pack.

"Spirit, watch out!" Lief screams.

I look up just in time to see Thresh's hand slam into my chest. I stagger backwards, away from the table, because I think that's what he wants, but then he picks me up and hurls me to the ground. I land hard on my side, one arm trapped underneath me as Thresh advances. If I try to get up, he'll have me. I roll to the side to avoid a kick and scramble across the table, putting it between me and him as I grab for one of my hammers.

Unfortunately, I've underestimated his reach. Thresh leans across the table and grabs me by the throat. His strength is incredible, and his strategy's not too bad, either - with the table between us, I can't kick him or do anything else to get myself free. Except grab one of my hammers and hit him repeatedly in the wrist.

On the fourth strike I feel something give and he drops me. I dive under the table to avoid another attack, and as I do, I catch a glimpse of Katniss, pinned down by Clove and screaming for Peeta. But I know, and she must know, too, that no help is coming. If Peeta were able to fight, he'd be here at her side, not covering her from the woods.

Thresh is in the act of flipping the table to get at me when Clove says the name of the girl from his district. He stops - leaving the table on all four legs - and turns to stare at her.

"Well, first Rue, then you, and then I think we'll just let nature take care of Lover Boy," Clove says. "How does that sound?"

The sound of Rue's name moves the first emotion I've ever seen in Thresh. He forgets about me and charges toward Katniss and Clove, four backpacks dangling from his massive hand. Including one of mine! He has one of my backpacks!

I crawl out from under the table and stand up, unzipping my backpack and flipping it over, praying for the contents to be Lief's medicine. I hear a metallic clinking and then I leap backward with a shriek as two matched throwing axes tumble out, nearly severing my toes as they fall. Finally the Gamemakers have seen fit to give me the weapon that won me a ten during training, but that's not what I want. I want Lief's medicine, and Thresh has that.

I hear Thresh shouting at Clove; her shrieking for Cato; the heavy thump as Thresh caves in her skull and she falls to the ground. Katniss and Thresh exchange words and then the girl from Twelve runs into the woods, and all I can do is hope that she gets clear before Cato arrives. Lief needs to get out here and help me, before I lose his medicine to the giant from District Eleven, but a quick glance back at our hiding spot shows that he's on his knees, coughing so hard that his face is bright red. He won't be any help. I'm on my own.

I lift the axes and run toward Thresh. "Give me my backpack!"

Thresh turns to me, ignoring Clove's almost-lifeless body on the ground, and hurls a massive stone at my head. I dodge, leap over Clove, and take a swing at him, going for the backpack, missing again and again. The exertion is starting to get to me. Spots are clouding my vision, and if I can't get the backpack or get rid of Thresh soon, I'll collapse. And then he'll kill me for sure.

As my seventh or eighth attempt to get the backpack fails, Thresh shoves me to the ground. Then, inexplicably, he runs, his stolen backpacks in hand, leaping down into the drop-off area that is his domain. I look around, trying to figure out what scared him off and if I should be running, too, but all I see is Lief breaking cover from the woods and Cato running onto the field, a spear clenched in his fist. I assume that Lief is coming to help me, but since it's Lief and he has a habit of doing odd things, I'm not entirely shocked when he kneels down beside Clove's still body.

Cato, spear hanging limply from his hand, stops a few feet away and just stares, which is basically what I'm doing. Lief sets his knife aside and takes Clove's hand, humming softly to her, singing the death hymn northerners use at cremations. It looks like all his talk about how she was nothing to him was just that - talk.

Lief's eyes are empty, cold and bleak, just like Clove's eyes, still open and glazing over. It's like they're both dying, side by side. I've seen Lief do this before. When someone is dying, he speaks to them through their thoughts to ease their way and comfort them. I can't believe he's doing it for Clove.

The cannon fires. Lief brushes a strand of brown hair out of Clove's eyes, slides her lids shut, and stands. "She's with her ancestors now," he says. "She's safe."

I wonder if that's what he told her as she was dying.

"We need to move," I say. "They have to collect the body."

Neither Lief nor Cato give any sign that they've heard me. I catch Lief's arm and give him a shove. He starts walking toward the Cornucopia, his steps heavy and slow. I approach Cato more warily, worried that he might attack, but all the fight seems to have gone out of him, and he lets me come within arm's length of him without making a move.

"Come on," I say. I don't think he's sad, exactly; just stunned. "It's time."

I curl my fingers around his wrist and tug, pulling him toward the Cornucopia. Even though I severed our alliance, it's surprisingly easy to slip back into our old ways. We climb to the top of the horn and sit in a silent row; we watch the hovercraft arrive, lifting up Clove's body and bearing her away.

_I'm sorry_, I think as the hovercraft vanishes. _But you had to go_.

Then I look at Cato, sitting beside me, and I wonder why I don't think that way about him.

Because neither of the boys seem fit to do it, I'm the one who addresses the issue at hand. "What happens now, guys? Where do we go from here?"

Lief looks up at me. "I don't know, Spirit," he snaps. "Why don't you tell me?"

Okay. Clove's death has messed him up pretty thoroughly. I'll have to tread carefully around him for awhile - and resist the urge, tempting as it may be, to point out that he's spent the entire Games telling me how much he doesn't care about Clove. But I can't let him derail me.

"It seems to me like we're all kind of screwed," I say carefully. "I'm the only one who got a backpack, and it wasn't the one we needed, Lief. It had axes in it. It was for me, not you. And Cato, I don't know what was in yours, but whatever it was, Thresh has it now. He has Lief's medicine, too. So I'm thinking that we should temporarily resurrect our alliance and go get our stuff back."

"You want us to team up and take out Thresh," Cato clarifies.

"Well, that was implied, but yeah." I look from him to Lief and back again. Lief is staring resolutely into the distance, but Cato is looking at me, his gaze just intense enough to make me nervous.

"All right," he says finally.

"All right? You're in?"

"I'm in."

Lief glances over at Cato and makes this disgusted snort. Then he returns his gaze to the horizon.

I glare daggers at him. "I'm just guessing here, but can I assume by the dying pig noise you just made that you don't approve? Do you not want to do it?"

"Do what?"

I turn up the eye voltage, hoping he'll get the message and straighten up. "Don't play dumb, Lief. Do you not want us to kill Thresh?"

"No, I'm fine with killing Thresh," Lief says. "It's the part where we team up with him again -" he points at Cato "- that I'm not thrilled about."

"Well, you'd better get used to it," I tell him, "because I'm going to get your medicine and I'm sure as hell not going in there alone."

My voice is rising. I stop speaking and take a deep breath before trying again. "Is my plan okay with you, Lief?"

"Does it matter? You've already made your decision."

"Are you in?" I repeat.

"Yes," Lief says, heaving an aggrieved sigh. "I'm in. Now, for heaven's sake, can we figure out how we're going to do this before Thresh uses my medicine to wash his face?"

We stay on the Cornucopia for an hour or so more, tossing around ideas. Cato is all for going after Thresh now, but Lief says he'll be expecting pursuers, and we'd be better off waiting a day or two. I see Lief's point, but I also know why he's choosing this moment to make it; he's hoping that the tension of being three of the last seven alive as well as the only remaining cross-district alliance will be enough to split us apart.

After they spend twenty minutes arguing the same points over and over again, I make the decision for them. "We'll go tomorrow. That'll give us time to rest and eat. But we can't wait any longer than that, Lief," I say when he glares at me. "You need that medicine soon."

"What's wrong with you?" Cato says, glancing at Lief.

"He's sick," I explain. "It happened a few hours after we split from you and Clove."

Lief starts coughing. I glare at him, sure that he's faking it for effect, but as his face slowly turns red and his breathing turns into an awful wheeze, I realize that it's real. He's getting worse so fast. I'm starting to think that the Gamemakers sent that tick to bite him, poisoning him with an accelerated form of the wasting disease - because the progression of this illness is unlike anything I've ever seen.

"Let's get out of here," Cato says. "We're too exposed - we should be under cover. And I don't like the look of those clouds."

The sky is rapidly darkening, even though it can't be anywhere near nightfall yet. I glance behind me and see what Cato was talking about, a roiling mass of storm clouds moving in from the east. We climb down from the Cornucopia and make for the woods, and we barely get under cover of the trees before the rain begins to fall.

It's pouring, the kind of drenching rain that we need in the north but never quite get, and in the space of a few minutes all three of us are soaked to the bone. The absence of the sun makes everything gloomier, and Lief's cough gets measurably worse as the rain continues. All in all, it's not a pleasant atmosphere, and I know I have to get Lief somewhere dry as soon as possible.

"We need a shelter," I announce. Then I realize that the only shelters I know how to make are the kind where you hack chunks of ice out of a glacier and build a makeshift igloo. "Does anyone know how to make one?"

"I told you not to skip that station," Lief wheezes.

"Save your breath. Cato, do you know anything about shelters?"

He nods. "Yeah. Come on. We'll need branches."

I don't even ask Lief if Cato's planning to kill me. By this point, I understand how he thinks.

"We need some big branches," Cato directs. "Can you climb that tree and send a couple down?"

I walk to the tree and draw one of my newly acquired axes, spinning it idly around. "Looks like I'll get some use out of these after all."

Cato's eyes follow the spinning blade. "They don't usually give out new weapons this late in the Games. Did you use those during your training session or something?"

I nod.

Cato lets out a long, low whistle. "So that's how you got your ten."

"Well," I say mildly, replacing the axe and beginning my climb, "the climbing helped, too."

The tree is an oak, big and sturdy, but the branches are slick with water, and I have to stop twenty feet up because I think I'm going to fall. I balance on a branch that's thicker around than my torso, but more attractive than the branch's size is that it has a bunch of smaller branches sticking out of it. I start chopping them off, and after I've cleared most of them, Cato tells me to come down.

"Do we have enough?" I ask once my feet are firmly on the ground.

"No. But there's lightning headed this way. I don't want you up there when it gets going."

Somebody should tell Cato that showing any type of kindness toward me is a bad idea. But I guess he already knows.

We move back through the woods, this time searching for an evergreen tree whose needles we can use to cover the frame of the shelter. When we come across a stand of pines, Cato pulls down the branches while I stand guard. I can't imagine who'd attack us right now, but I stay alert anyway, wondering if the Gamemakers would drive another tribute toward us. Maybe they want to show Panem how I use my axes.

As far as weapons go, axes are some of my least favorites, partly because I'm a soldier who's used to having guns. Guns are fast and efficient, and if you have good enough aim, you can fool yourself into believing that your target doesn't suffer too much. But axes…there's no way to use them elegantly, no way to kill painlessly. Any death brought on by my weapons would be protracted and probably messy. I wish I had a knife or something. At least then the people I kill would die fast.

Pretty soon there's a pile of branches on the ground. "Who's going to carry these?"

"I'll do it. You guard," Cato says. He sheathes his sword.

I make a doubtful noise. "You sure you want me guarding?"

"I trust you." He bends down and starts gathering the branches. His first action once he's got them all is to walk straight into a tree. "Dammit. I can't see a thing."

I swallow a burst of laughter. "Just follow the sound of my voice. I know where we're going."

The top of his head is barely visible over the branches. "I trust you."

The trip back to Lief is the most fun I've had since I tossed the land mine into the lake and scared Glimmer out of the water. Needless to say, the last couple weeks haven't been enjoyable. After I accidentally walk Cato into four trees, he tells me quite seriously that I'm the worst guide he's ever seen. So, naturally, I have to respond by walking him into another tree.

We're both laughing by the time we get back to where we left Lief. It occurs to me that I get along much better with Cato than I do with my own district partner, and I decide that it's something I need to fix. Unfortunately for me and my good intentions, the separation hasn't improved Lief's mood in the slightest; he's soaking wet and absolutely miserable. "Glad to see someone's having fun," he mumbles as Cato sets down the branches and goes to work on the shelter.

I'd like to go check my snares and my fish trap, but there's no way I'm leaving Lief and Cato alone together. Instead I send Lief to check, warning him as he goes that he'd better get his head screwed on straight.

_If Cato was dead, you'd be worse wrecked than this_, Lief snipes.

_Oh, so now you and Clove are comparable to me and Cato? _I explode, but Lief ignores me, shuffling out of the clearing. As he leaves, lightning strikes a few miles off and the flash catches on the blade of his knife. He's had it in his hand the whole time. I make a note to start checking Lief for weapons before I pick fights with him.

Cato is still working on the shelter, building a framework and then covering it in pine branches. He has it set up between two trees, and every once in awhile, a gust of wind will shake the branches above him and send a shower of leaves down on his head.

I've been in wet clothes for at least an hour now, and as much as I hate to admit it even to myself, I'm feeling the cold - courtesy of my failing blood. I pull my wet jacket around me, lean back against a tree like Lief was doing earlier, and huddle up.

"It's done," Cato says, stepping back to examine his handiwork. "What do you think?"

I survey it skeptically. "Is it going to fall in on us?"

"Go inside and see."

I back myself carefully into the shelter. It's spacious enough for one person, a cozy fit for two, but three? It's be a tight squeeze at best, a rerun of the Career cuddle puddle on the second night of the Games; except this time, it'll only be me, Lief, and Cato. And since I can't trust them not to knife each other, I'll be sleeping in the middle. If I sleep at all.

"Are you getting rained on?" Cato asks. When I shake my head, he crawls into the shelter alongside me. "Excellent. I'm freezing."

I edge over to the side and lean up against the tree trunk that forms one wall of the shelter. "Me, too."

After a minute or so - I've never been one for long silences - I say, "Are you okay? You know, about Clove?"

Cato shrugs. "It was just a surprise, I guess. I didn't know it would happen so fast. But I wasn't too attached to her, you know? I mean, I've known right from the start that we couldn't both make it out, and I guess I didn't really accept that we could even when they changed the rules. And anyway, I wouldn't have wanted it to be…"

He trails off.

"Why did you send her in alone?" I ask.

"I don't know. It was stupid. It's my fault she's dead."

I roll my eyes. There's a whole list of people to blame for Clove's death - Thresh, the Capitol, the Gamemakers, even Clove herself - and Cato is pretty far down on that list. "She was tough. She could handle herself in a fight. But she made a mistake. It could have happened to any of us. We all got lucky, and she, well, she didn't."

That's probably all the eulogy Clove's going to get. Tough. Fighter. Made a mistake. Could have happened to anyone. No different than the hundreds of eulogies I've made for soldiers who died under my command, and yes, there were hundreds, because even though I was a good commander - everyone told me so, although I never believed it - casualties are an unavoidable cost of victory.

I guess I understand the concept better than anyone.

"It wasn't your fault," I repeat.

Cato shrugs again.

Lief returns, carting three fish. "There were footprints all around your snare site, Spirit. I think somebody raided them."

"It doesn't matter. You moved the fish trap, though, right?"

Lief nods. "You wouldn't believe how high the stream's getting."

After that, silence falls, and Lief attempts to diffuse the awkwardness by passing out the fish, one for each of us. He and I draw our knives, expertly flay the fish, and tear into them raw. Cato just stares at us. "Aren't you going to cook these?"

"Nah," Lief mumbles, his mouth full. "Wood's too wet. Fire wouldn't start. And anyway, this is how we eat them in District Seven. "

Cato looks down at his fish. I can tell he's considering eating it with its scales on, and wondering how not to throw up in the process, because there's no way his district pride will allow him to ask us for help. My fish is already cleaned, so rather than making things awkward again by asking if he needs help, I take his fish and switch it out with mine.

Lief rolls his eyes, and I flick a fish bone at him. "Hey," he says to Cato. "I knew this one kid back in District Seven who loved raw fish."

Cato looks up, more out of shock that Lief's talking to him than actual interest in the story. "Yeah?"

"He loved it so much that he ate it for every meal," Lief continues. "Only, the thing was, it turned out that the paper factory up the river was dumping waste in the water, and all the fish were mutants."

Cato just looks at him.

"So one day," Lief says, not discouraged at all by Cato's lack of a response, "he woke up, and he had webbing growing between his fingers and his toes. And the next day, he had scales. And the third day, they found him suffocated in his bed. He'd turned into a fish."

I've heard variations on this story quite a few times. A year or so ago it made the rounds in the army, and everyone who retold it would come up with some twist on it, trying to make it scarier. Only it was so cheesy, we all ended up laughing, because nobody in the north is scared of mutants.

Lief smirks. "And that's what happens when you eat too much raw fish. Hey, Cato," he says, feigning concern, "you haven't touched your fish. Have you lost your appetite?"

"Only frogs have webbed feet," Cato says, taking a bite out of his fish. "You District Seven kids must scare easy. We have way worse stories in District Two."

"Oh, yeah?" Lief coughs into his fist, then looks up at Cato with determination in his eyes. "Try me."

They trade ghost stories for awhile. Personally, I think telling ghost stories in an arena full of people who want to kill you while a big storm is going on outside is pushing your luck, but since they're actually having an interaction that doesn't involve drawn weapons, I let it alone.

"What about you, Spirit?" Cato says, once he's finished a particularly gruesome story involving a murderous doll. "Do you know any ghost stories?"

"Millions of them. But Lief's told you the best ones."

Valentine loved scary stories, but he didn't like telling them. His favorite thing to do was to have me tell the story while he snuck around behind whoever was listening. Then he'd scream in their ear or grab their shoulders or crack an egg on their head, and then laugh his head off while they shrieked. One time he got Lief by pouring half a canteen of warm water - at least I hope it was water - down the back of Lief's shirt.

After we finish our fish, everyone gets tired. Maybe it's the rain, maybe it's the cold, maybe it's the dark, but despite the fact that it's only late afternoon, we all start feeling the urge to sleep.

"It's okay," Lief yawns, trying to rationalize it. "It's so dark outside now, it's not like we're going to be able to tell when it's actually night. Let's just sleep."

"Fine," Cato says. He edges over and claims one side of the shelter. Lief, not to be outdone, immediately takes over the other side, leaving me the middle. They turn their backs to each other, use their packs as pillows, and shut their eyes.

"Fine," I echo softly, caught between them, and I stay awake.


	19. You and Me

A/N: Thanks to Teleryn, bigtimecrazy123, HermioneandMarcus, -Effy, rjnkr, Appaloosa13, and Panda Bandit for the reviews.

* * *

I wake up early in the morning, twisted into the space between Cato and Lief. The rain is still going on, and there are standing puddles of water in between the trees. There's a horrible sound filling the air. It's the low, bubbling whine of a wounded animal, and it's coming from right next to me.

After a minute of listening, I hear my name in the pain-filled sound, and only then do I realize that the person making it is Lief.

I jolt upright. Lief is curled onto his side, arms wrapped around his middle, his body overtaken by violent spasms of coughing. Every time he coughs, dark spots fly from his lips. I grab his shoulders and roll him onto his back as he goes into another fit, and one of the dark spots hits my hand. Blood. It's blood. He's coughing up blood.

My first thought, illogically, is radiation sickness. But that doesn't make sense, because Lief knows the signs and he would have told me it was coming on. And besides, he's only half shape-changer. He's too young to have it yet. Half-born. Safe from the scourge that's killing me. And for a second, I really hate him.

I get over it fast. My second thought is wasting disease, progressing far too fast to be a normal illness. The Gamemakers must have decided that they're tired of waiting for us to go after Thresh, so they're upping the ante by making Lief's condition dramatically worse. They're making us go now.

I pull out my water bottle and force it into Lief's hands. Then I turn to wake Cato, only to see that he's awake already.

"He's worse." It's not a question.

"Yeah."

"How long have you been up? When did he start doing this?"

"A couple hours." Cato looks down at Lief's twitching form, then back at me again. "Why?"

I make a noise of frustration and turn away. I swear, Cato is so like Valentine that they could be twins. Only they could hear somebody hacking out pieces of their lungs and assume that nothing's seriously wrong.

I look down at Lief, finally done with his coughing fit. "Lief, can you hear me?"

A dribble of blood comes out of the side of his mouth. He wipes it away and nods.

"Sit up for me, all right?"

It becomes apparent very quickly that he can barely manage that simple action. His limbs are jelly, and he has such a hard time getting his arms underneath him that Cato and I have to get on either side of him and hoist him up. We lean him back against a tree and I stare anxiously into his eyes, checking for the glassy delirium that comes with fever. As far as I can see, he's lucid, but I can't tell if that's a blessing or a curse. If he were delirious, he'd also be oblivious. But he isn't. He knows exactly what's happening to him. And he's terrified.

"Spirit, I don't want to die," Lief manages.

"You're not going to die." This assessment is definitely born of my medic school training - keep on kindling hope in the patient until there is no hope at all. "You're just getting sicker, but it's okay, because we'll get your medicine today and you'll be fixed right up."

"It hurts, Spirit," Lief whispers. I've never seen him look so scared, not even on the day we fought Valentine and he was mere moments from losing his life. "I don't want to die."

I grab Lief by the collar and give him a little shake, making him look me in the eyes. "Listen to me. You're not going to die. I'm not going to let that happen. I promise."

I glare into Lief's face until I'm sure he knows I'm serious. Then I let him go, take a deep breath, and try to assume a calmer demeanor. "What's hurting?"

"My ribs." Lief lifts a hand to touch his rib cage and flinches.

My guess is that the issue lies with his ribs, either separated or dislocated. Dislocated I can fix. Separated he'll have to live with. I rest my hands on his rib cage and feel along the row of bones, searching for abnormalities. When I can't find the sixth rib on the left side, I panic for a minute, but I force myself to keep looking and then I come across it, jammed up and to the left and way out of position.

"You dislocated a rib," I tell Lief. Then, as an aside to Cato, "You're going to have to help me. I can't hold him down and pull it back in at the same time."

"You don't seriously think he's going to make it?" Cato glances at Lief, who's slid out of his sitting position and to the ground again. In response to Cato's words, Lief looks up, but he apparently lacks even the energy for a retort. Cato continues in a lower voice, "And even if he doesn't die in the next ten minutes, we can't take him to chase down Thresh, Spirit."

"We can. He'll hang back. It's what he always does." For once, I'm grateful for Lief's unwillingness to enter a fight. Of course, that'll place the responsibility of killing Thresh squarely on Cato and I, but what the hell. We're strong enough. We can do it.

It takes ten minutes to undo what three days worth of painful coughing did to Lief's body. He lies down on the ground and Cato pins him across the shoulders. I give him a stick to bite down on, but even so, he howls so loudly as I push the errant rib back into place that I expect someone to burst out of the woods at any moment, ready to attack us. But of course, no one comes. There are only seven left.

Cato shifts from foot to foot. "Can we go now, Spirit?"

"Breakfast first," I say. "We have to eat."

I head for the stream, the pair of them trailing behind me, but then I remember that Lief moved the fish trap last night and I have to ask him where he put it. The water is really high, and it's a two person job reaching the trap. One person to go after it, the other person to spot them and make sure they don't get swept away. I pick my way out onto the rocks with Cato keeping an eye on me and haul in the trap.

Again, the trap is full of fish, and we end up eating raw trout - this time, Cato manages to clean and gut his own fish. And once we've picked the fish clean and tossed the bones back in the water, I decide to go get some berries. Lief's been complaining that his throat hurts, and blackberries from the bush I found a few days ago would be perfect to ease the pain.

I find the bush quickly, pick a few handfuls of berries, and hurry back to the stream, wondering how I could have been so stupid as to leave Cato and Lief alone together. And when I hear the voices, I break into a run. But their voices aren't angry. They're just talking, and I pause at the tree line, concealed by the trunk of a cedar, listening.

"Think you can survive the fight?" This is Cato, speaking to Lief.

"Yeah. And I'll be fine after that." There's a hint of frost in Lief's tone, but nowhere near the ice storm that I've heard sometimes. For some reason, they're tolerating each other.

"You look like hell. You're lucky Spirit's here to take care of you. If you were my district partner I would have dumped you ages ago, forget the new rule."

Lief coughs. "Speaking of Spirit…I want you to leave her be. You can't do anything now except screw her over. So don't try it."

My hands curl into fists. Lief's got some nerve to pretend that he's my protector, and I'm about to burst out of the trees and stop the conversation in its tracks - except I really want to know what Cato's going to say in response.

There's a pause. Then Cato responds. "Spirit can make her own decision. And why do you even care?"

"Because only one of you is coming out of here alive."

That's enough. I make a lot of noise as I exit the tree line, silencing whatever retort Cato was about to come up with, and hand Lief his berries. I stare at him the entire time he's eating them, blatantly thinking about the conversation I just overheard so he'll know he was out of line. Lief avoids my gaze. And as soon as he's swallowed the last mouthful, I get up and start walking downstream, toward the plain.

The trip to the plain goes by in silence. The sound of the rushing water and the rain drowns out anything we might have said. We pass out of the forest, across the plain, past the Cornucopia, until we're looking over the drop-off where we last saw Thresh and down into the field where he's hiding.

Lief stares out at the grassland and shivers. "I don't like this. Do we have to go in there?"

I sigh. "Thresh has this all figured out, Lief. He stays down there and only comes out when there's something major in it for him. We couldn't lure him out if we all danced naked around the Cornucopia."

"Now there's a lovely image," Lief mutters. "So you're sure he's not coming out."

"Positive."

"So what are we waiting for?" Cato says. "He has my pack and your medicine. Let's get a move on."

Lief coughs into his fist, his whole body shaking, his hand coming away red. Why couldn't I have grabbed the pack with his medicine? I can fight perfectly well without the axes I recovered from my pack. It's the medicine we need.

I climb down the small cliff leading into the grassland, marking off the holds Lief and Cato should use with a chalky stone I found by the lake. They manage the climb all right, and once we're all on the ground, we arrange ourselves into battle formation. Cato takes point, with Lief and I on each side and a few steps back, and we move into the swaying grass.

The storm seems calmer here. The rain is misting rather than pounding down from the sky, and a light, cold wind blows my soaking hair out of my face. It's deceptively peaceful, like the silent tundra in the moments before the ice wolves close in. It scares me more than I'm willing to admit.

When, after maybe five minutes, Lief speaks, I jump out of my skin. "Spirit," he says, "where the hell are you?"

"Right here."

"I can't see you," he complains. "When you're walking in that stupid crouch, the grass goes right over your head."

"Not so loud," I implore. "Thresh will hear you."

"Does it matter?" Cato asks. "If he doesn't know we're in here, he won't come out."

We keep walking.

Maybe ten, maybe fifteen minutes later, the clouds shift a little and a narrow shaft of sunlight comes through, and everything after that happens so fast. I see the shadow cast on the grass ahead of me, too tall and broad-shouldered to be mine, and I have just enough time to scream before the shadow draws back a hand and takes a swing at me.

I dive out of the way barely fast enough to miss the brunt of the strike. Thresh must have something in his hand, a rock like the one he killed Clove with, because the impact on my hip is too hard for a fist. I roll sideways into the grass and struggle to my feet, watching in shock as Thresh advances toward the others.

He's even taller than Cato, and in his right hand he holds a war hammer, similar to the one I have. No wonder he was after me! He must have wanted the hammers way back at the beginning of the Games, only I got to them first, and at the feast he tried to take them again. Maybe that's why he went for our packs. Maybe he thought there would be similar weapons inside, and instead of getting the axes, he came up with the medicine.

Cato is trying to draw his sword when Thresh plows into him, knocking him onto his back. They wrestle on the ground for a moment, weapons trapped between each other's bodies, and Thresh comes out on top, hammer raised to strike down.

"Hey!" I yell, and throw one of my axes, but my aim is off and it thuds into the grass, missing Thresh's skull by mere inches. I dart in, then retreat as he strikes at me, hoping to goad him into throwing his hammer. But he's too smart to fall for that. I can see the wheels turning in his head as he decides that he can crush Cato's skull and be out of the way before I can attack him. Lief is nowhere to be seen. At the first sign of the fight, he probably made a run for it.

I don't have time for anything better, so I hurl myself at him, hitting the boy from District Eleven at about chest height and knocking him back to the ground. Cato piles on top of him as well, but even with our combined weight, Thresh is still stronger than we are. He sits up and throws us off. I fly farther than Cato does - right out of striking range - as Thresh clambers to his feet, one hand clenching a hammer, and the other a knife.

My hand goes to my belt, but my knife is gone, jarred loose in the struggle. Thresh has it now, and he is moving toward Cato. Although Cato didn't go as far as I did, he hit the ground hard, and he's only just getting up as Thresh lunges.

"Cato, behind you!" My voice comes out panicked, like Clove's was before Thresh caved in her skull, except it's not my own life I'm afraid for now.

Cato turns halfway, just enough to avoid the arc of the hammer. But there's no avoiding the knife in Thresh's other hand. It cuts across Cato's chest and he cries out in pain, stumbling backward as Thresh slashes at him again. Cato gets exactly one more step into his retreat before he trips on his own feet and falls flat on his back, blood pouring from the wound in his chest.

Thresh kicks the sword out of Cato's hand and raises his hammer high, ready to bash in his skull. I'm too far away to help. Even changing shape won't save him now.

The sound that rips out of my throat is barely human. "No!"

As Thresh starts to bring the hammer down, Lief materializes out of the brush, knife in hand. He runs in under the hammer swing and drives the knife into Thresh's stomach. Thresh falls to his knees, knife and hammer both falling from his hands, and in one perfect, practiced motion, Lief snatches up the hammer and brings it down across the back of Thresh's head. Then he does it again and again.

A cannon goes off on the fourth blow. Lief drops the blood-slick hammer and backs away. "No," he whispers.

I can't even look at the dead tribute. His bashed-in skull reminds me a little too much of the way Valentine looked after I killed him. And now Lief has killed someone. His first kill. Maybe he'll understand why Valentine haunts me so now that he has a few ghosts of his own.

Averting my eyes, I crawl to the body and remove the packs he's carrying. Two are marked with white twos, one with a seven, and the last with an eleven. I leave the last one. It's his, after all. We don't have a right to it.

I unzip the blue pack and check the contents. One syringe in a sealed pack, obviously never used. I hand it to Lief. "Here. Thresh didn't take your medicine. I don't know what he was after, but this wasn't it."

Lief nods shakily. To have his first kill occur in such a gruesome way…no wonder he's screwed up.

I go to check on Cato next. He's sitting up, but his chest is soaked in blood and his face is too pale. I put his packs next to him and sit down. He has one hand pressed against his chest. Carefully, I pry his bloody hand away so I can examine the wound, and as it comes free, his fingers tighten around mine. "Don't let go," he says.

With my free hand, I move fabric away from the cut and discover that it's a clean slash of moderate length and depth. Not big enough to be really worried about, but certainly big enough to require stitches. I don't want to put the stitches in here. I don't want to stay in the grasslands. It feels wrong to me.

"We need to go," I say. With Cato injured and Lief frozen, I have to take charge. "I don't want us here at night."

Arbitrarily, I pick a direction and set off. The boys drag themselves to their feet and follow me. The grasslands have an eerie similarity to them; you could easily convince me that I'm walking in circles.

"I took the medicine," Lief says after a while.

"Good." I'm shocked that he managed to give himself the shot, but then again, he just smashed in someone's skull. What a lot of new things Lief is doing today.

After awhile, I make us stop and climb up on Lief's shoulders to get a view above the grasses. I spot the cliff - turns out we were going the wrong way - and get us going in the right direction. We walk in silence for a few minutes more.

"Did anyone think," Lief asks, "that this was a little too easy?"

"What do you mean?" Cato says shortly.

"We were always terrified of the grasslands," Lief says. "I think we felt that way for a reason."

"So you think we're missing something?" I say idly. The ground is changing a little bit. Rather than just dry grass carpeting the earth, it's now interspersed with thick green vines. "Like what?"

My question is answered when the harmless-looking vine I just stepped over rises up, coils around my ankles, and rips my legs out from under me.

A second ago, everything was calm, and now we're under attack from a colony of killer plants. As I struggle to get back up, more vines wrap around me, binding my wrists to the ground. I arch my back, trying to pull free, but the vines begin to sprout thorns and I freeze, knowing that any movement will bring blood and that will mean my death. I've been completely immobilized.

"Stay still," Lief calls. "Movement activates them."

He's bound by one leg and holding still. The other vines seem to be leaving him alone, and they've halted their attack on me. I'm still stuck, but they aren't attempting to entangle me further.

Cato continues struggling, maybe because he believes he can break free, or maybe because he's too panicked to heed Lief's warning. In any case, the vines double their attack on him, sprouting thorns and leaving long gouges wherever they strike. This is obviously a Gamemaker trap, but why activate it now? It's the end stage of the Games; the audience wants to see tributes doing the killing, not a bunch of murderous plants! And shouldn't one death be enough for today?

The sky is darkening again, and in the half-light, I see Lief slowly draw his knife and slice through the vine holding his leg. Not only does the cut vine fall away, a whole knot a few feet from Lief collapses.

"They're interconnected," he says softly. "If you kill one, the others die. Stay still, Spirit. I'm coming to get you."

Lief wades through the vines toward me. He seems to have a natural sense for knowing which vines control the others, and it takes him only a few minutes to reach me and cut me out of their thorny embrace. I have welts on my wrists and ankles and I'm more than a little shaken.

"Thanks," I manage. Then, "What about Cato?"

He's still entangled; his mouth is moving, asking for help, but a vine wrapped around his throat prevents any sound from coming out. It's choking him. He won't last much longer.

Lief looks at Cato, then back at me. "What about him?"

Suddenly, I understand everything. Why the Gamemakers chose to activate this trap, why Lief was on the far edge of it when it happened. The alliance between us and Cato isn't playing well, so the Gamemakers gave us an opportunity to end it, knowing that we'd walk straight into it, knowing that Lief would save me and leave Cato to die.

I shouldn't have to think about it. I should turn around and walk away, damn the changes it will make to the path, damn that there will be a Cato mutt in the pack that will chase us. This is right and good. This is what must happen in order to save my people, and my life and everyone else's are a price worth paying for it. Funny, but all I can see is the boy dying on the ground.

He doesn't have to die. I can save him.

I grab Lief's wrist and twist it sharply, forcing him to drop the knife. I pick it up and charge headlong into the vines, hacking at all of them until huge groups of them collapse into stillness. Once I reach Cato's side, I cut away the vines, not even flinching when one whips up from the ground and strikes me across the face. I don't stop until the boy from District Two is free.

Lief comes up behind me and cuts a vine that was about to strangle me. "That," he says, his voice icy, "was stupid."

"Give me hell about it later. Help me get him out of here."

For a second, I think Lief's going to refuse, but then he grabs one of Cato's arms and unceremoniously drags him up. When I go to help, he says, "I've got it. You keep guard."

I let them get a little bit ahead of me, and then I bend down to check my ankles, the only part of my body I didn't relax fast enough to escape the thorns. The left one is clear, but there's a small, bloody scrape on the side of my right ankle, resolutely dripping blood. I don't let myself panic. It's not a disaster. It's a tiny cut, and I can sustain a little blood loss for however long it takes for these Games to end.

It's quite a production, getting Cato over the cliff and out of the grasslands. He's dizzy from blood loss at this point, so Lief and I have to haul him up and over the side. Lief hasn't coughed once since he took his medicine - so at this point, he's the healthiest person in the alliance, and it falls to him to go check the snares and get water once we reach our shelter. Cato crawls into the shelter and just about collapses.

I wish I could start a fire. Another night in the cold won't do any of us good, but the rain hasn't let up and the wood is still too wet to burn.

"Spirit," Cato says. "It won't stop bleeding."

"That's because it's deep."

It occurs to me that this is probably the first time Cato's been seriously injured. I crawl into the shelter as well, searching my pack for the med kit. It's severely depleted by now, but there's still a roll of bandages left, and some unused needles for stitching. I draw out the roll of bandages, form a compress with them, and put them on Cato's chest.

"Press down on these," I tell him. "I'll stitch it up when Lief gets back with the water.

When Lief returns, he carries the refilled water jugs, a few fish, and two silver parachutes. "One of them isn't marked, but the other one has your name on it, Spirit."

He sits down and opens the unmarked parachute. The unmistakable scent of fresh-baked bread permeates the air so thoroughly that he doesn't even have to tell us what it is. We know just by the smell.

"How much?" Cato asks.

"Three loaves. One for each of us." Lief looks daggers at me as he says this.

"What's in the other one?" I say after a few seconds of the hairy-eyeball treatment. "Let's open it."

Lief hands me the package and I undo the ties on it, pulling open the lid. Inside is a neat row of pristine white bandages and a bottle of some clear liquid. I pull it out, uncap it, and give it a sniff, and I realize that it's rubbing alcohol, good for sterilizing wounds or needles. They must have known we were running low on supplies, and with our injuries from our trip to the grasslands, we needed more. I lift a roll of bandages and a small white card falls from it.

It's not Johanna's handwriting. The letters are smoother and more evenly formed. I lift the card and read aloud from it. "Our thanks to the girl from District Seven."

Then, puzzled, "Who sent this?"

"Let me see it," Cato says. I hand him the card and he stares at it for so long that I start to worry. Then he finally says, "It's from District Two. That's my mother's handwriting."

"But why would they send it to me?" I say, tiredness and cold making me slow. Lief raises his eyebrows pointedly at me, and a second later, I understand. "Oh."

They want to thank me for not killing their tribute, for not standing by and witnessing his death. The very virtue that Cato warned would get me killed is bringing me rewards.

"Well," I say, "let's not let it go to waste."

I deal with Lief's injuries first. He has a few puncture wounds in his leg from the vines, and as I wrap them in bandages, Lief says, _You really screwed up, Spirit_.

_We got your medicine, didn't we? _I snap back, knowing full well it's not what he means. I can barely look at him now without wanting to punch him. So it's best if I don't look at him and just focus on Cato.

I thread the needle with the last of the dissolving thread, knowing as I do it that it's pointless. Cato will be dead soon, tomorrow or the next day, as soon as the girl from District Five dies and the Gamemakers drive us together with District Twelve. He'll be gone soon, so why should I waste our precious supplies on someone whose time is almost up? Lief glares at me from the opposite side of the shelter, and I force myself to breathe deeply and pretend he's not there.

"Can you hold it together, or do you need Lief to hold you down?" I ask Cato.

He shakes his head. "I'll be fine."

I'm about eighty percent sure that he's lying, but I don't push it. I stick the threaded needle into the bottle of rubbing alcohol to sterilize it. Then I move to Cato's side, order him to lean back against the tree so that the injury is exposed, and pinch the edges of the cut together. "Ready?"

Cato takes a deep breath. I'm the only person close enough to notice how his hands are shaking. "Yeah. Fine. Just do it."

I take the first stitch and nausea overcomes me, my stomach clenching and a foul taste rising in the back of my throat. The sick feeling is stronger than ever, and I actually turn my head away, feeling my body wrench. Nothing comes up, and I sit back from Cato, my hands shaking almost as badly as his. "I can't. I can't."

I had the same reaction when I had to stitch up a wound Valentine received during a mutt fight. Our unit medic was occupied with somebody severely wounded, but Valentine's injury had to be stitched or infection would set it. It fell to me to do it, and after a few stitches, I had to back away. Valentine worried for me - he thought I had an injury I was hiding - but then I explained. I hate being the person to inflict pain on someone I care about.

"Why don't you sing?" Lief says, almost a challenge. "Doesn't that take your mind off it?"

I don't want to sing. Not here, not for Cato. But I can't trust Lief to stitch the wound and Cato certainly can't do it himself. I don't really have a choice. I take a few breaths, feeling my pulse slow back to a normal rate. Then I set the needle against Cato's skin again and begin to sing. The song I chose is at the lower end of my range, a piece I actually picked up in Abbess's house. They keep the tapes of our ancestors there, and I was listening to one. And then I heard this song.

I feel myself calming down as I sing, and I'm able to make myself watch the stitches I'm taking. They're perfect and even, probably the best stitches I've ever done on anyone.

"Spirit," Cato says.

I look up at him, then down at the cut. It's already closed. "What?"

I'm sitting too close to him. I know the power in his hands; I saw what he did to the boy from District Three. I should be out of his reach, for safety - but I can't move, because the thread in his skin is still attached to the needle. I'm stuck.

_Spirit, move! _Lief yells. _You've got to move!_

Cato's hands come up and clamp down on my shoulders, and I get it. He's going to kill me. I underestimated him - how could I have been so stupid as to believe that he wouldn't hurt me? - and now I'm going to die for my foolishness.

Then he leans forward and kisses me.

It lasts maybe ten seconds, long enough that I know there's no way it was a mistake. Cato did exactly what he meant to do, and me? What am I doing? I'm kissing him back, and for the first time in nearly a year, I'm not thinking about Valentine.

Lief starts shouting at us as soon as what he's seeing registers with him, and we break the kiss and tell him to shut up in unison. Of course, that only unhinges him further. I try to shut him out, and instead I look down at the needle in my hand, the thread still attached. This is what I'm focused on, and this is what I'm thinking about when I draw my knife.

This action finally silences Lief. Naked relief flashes across his face; he must think that I've come to my senses, that I'm going to kill Cato at last. Cato, for his part, only watches as I raise the knife, cut the thread connecting the needle to the line of stitches, and tie it off.

Lief watches as I stow the needle in the med kit, and when he speaks, his voice is like broken glass. "Spirit, we need to talk."

"In a minute," I say, removing a roll of bandages. "I have to -"

"_Now_."

Cato takes the bandages out of my hand. "Go. I'll be fine."

I look at him for a second, watching his face redden. In an undertone, too quiet for Lief to hear, he says defiantly, "I'm not sorry I did it."

"I'm not, either."

For a second he looks shocked. Then Cato smiles and takes my hand, his skin warm against my icy fingers. "Good."

"Spirit!" Lief says, his voice almost at a yell. I unwind my fingers from Cato's and walk into the forest after my district partner.

Lief gets maybe ten steps away from the shelter before he starts shaking with rage, and it's all I can do to get us out of earshot before he finally explodes.

"Why didn't you listen to me?" he yells. "I told you -"

"Keep your voice down," I hiss. Despite Lief's fury, I force myself to remain calm. My anger will only worsen the situation. "I did exactly what you told me to do."

"I told you to get us in with the Career pack and keep us there as long as you could," Lief says, lowering his voice. At least he's making an effort to hold it together. "You did that. I never told you to make an alliance with Cato again, and save his life, and let him kiss you! Goddammit, Spirit, what were you thinking? Now he thinks you love him, too!"

His voice has risen back to a shout, but I know that despite his anger, he's waiting for me to agree with him. I even know what he wants me to say; Of course I don't love Cato. I was playing it for the cameras the whole time. You're so gullible, Lief. I can't believe you thought it was true.

But I've told so many lies in these Games, to enemies and allies and district partners alike. I won't lie about this, because that would mean I regret it. And I don't.

I keep my mouth shut, and I look away from Lief. And that's all he needs.

He laughs bitterly. "You've got to be kidding, Spirit. You just love the bad boys, don't you?"

"Shut up."

"First Valentine, now Cato. It's like you can't resist when you know they have to die -"

"Shut up!" I yell, finally losing my temper. "Don't you dare talk about Valentine in front of me, you bastard! He was twice the person you are!"

He laughs again. "You know what, Spirit? You're right. And the funny thing is, you don't even know how right you are."

I'm starting to think that killing Thresh has caused Lief to completely lose his mind. I've known him for fourteen years and I've never seen him act like this. "What?"

"Wrong question," Lief says. There's a fierce light in his eyes. "You asked all these questions about Valentine after he died. What, how, when, where. But you forgot the most important one, Spirit. You forgot to ask why."

I grab Lief by the shoulders and slam him against a tree. He's not expecting it and I can tell it throws him. "Why did Valentine do it, Lief?"

_And if you lie to me I will kill you, partner or not_.

Without missing a beat, Lief says, _For you_.

I slam him into the tree again. _I told you not to lie to me!_

_I'm not lying! _Lief says as my fingers find his throat. _Abbess told Valentine that you would die of radiation sickness in two years, and he knew we couldn't save you. So he made a deal with someone who could_.

No. No! This can't be the answer. Valentine gave up the location of our city, our Sanctuary, because he was twisted and power-hungry and cruel. He didn't do it to get me to the Capitol to be treated for radiation sickness. He can't have.

Because if he did, I killed him for trying to save me.

"You're wrong," I hiss at Lief. _You have to be wrong_.

"I wish I was."

I let go of Lief's neck, grab him by his shirt collar instead, and hurl him aside with all my strength. He's taller than I am, but the wasting disease lived up to its name and he's become far too thin. He goes flying and hits another tree. I stalk across the clearing until I'm standing over him. "Leave."

He scrambles up. "Spirit, I -"

"Leave!" I scream. I draw my knife and hurl it at him, missing by just enough that he knows I'm serious. "And if I hear a cannon, I will find you and flay the skin off your bones. Go away!"

My voice rises to a shriek, and this unnerves Lief enough that he obeys. Once he's gone, I smash one of my hammers into the tree trunk a few times, feeling sick in more ways than one.

The crime that sentenced Valentine to death was an innocuous thing, really. He said a few numbers during a transmission, numbers we'd all said thousands of times before - the coordinates of Sanctuary. Unfortunately, he said them on an open channel, where anyone who was listening could hear what he was saying. A few numbers. That's all it took for Valentine to hand over Sanctuary's location to the Capitol. His betrayal was so small and simple that it could almost be a mistake. It would have been seen as a mistake if someone else hadn't been listening to the open channel as well.

Lief was working in communications, monitoring the open channel for any activity. He heard what Valentine said and sounded the alarm. His quick action was the only thing that saved Sanctuary from being decimated by the attack, but that's not to say there wasn't damage. The Capitol knocked out our communications systems seconds too late to stop Lief's message from going through, and as a result, it was several days before the rest of the northerners learned what had happened.

Several days before I, stationed at the southern border ruins, learned that Valentine had betrayed us all.

I raced back to the heartland, only to find that I, too, was a suspect in Valentine's plot. Because I loved him, they believed I was a traitor as well, and it was only after Lief examined my mind and declared me innocent that they told me their plan. The way the elders laid it out, Lief was supposed to do the actual killing of Valentine. I was only there as a distraction. And I had to go along with it or risk branding myself a traitor again. I went. We tracked Valentine south, past the ruins, past the border, into Panem itself.

We caught up to him in the mountains. It was snowing, a rough wind howling, trying to scrape all three of us off the cliffs. Valentine's joy at seeing me was horrible. He thought I'd come to join him. Instead I'd come to bury him.

Lief attacked, but Valentine, always so tall and strong (so much like Cato) quickly gained the upper hand. And then I had a choice; save Lief by killing Valentine, or let Valentine kill Lief. It would've been an easy decision for any northerner but me, and that was what the elders forgot to factor in when they sent me after him. They forgot that I couldn't be counted on to do the right thing. I was untrustworthy. Love had made me into a liability. But I was trained as a soldier, and I had my orders.

In the end, I made the choice any good soldier would. I crushed Valentine's skull with my claws, took the hit he dealt me in his death throes, and collapsed, ready to die alongside him in the snow. But I didn't die. Instead Lief called for help, got Abbess to authorize a hovercraft evacuation, and I woke up back in the north.

I asked about Valentine's body. Lief told me he'd left it in the snow, because a traitor didn't deserve a decent burial. It made sense then, but now I realize that he was already weaving the lie around me, to keep me close under Abbess' control. I didn't rate the truth even then.

Anyway, I couldn't stand the thought of Valentine alone in the snow, so when I was well enough, I went back. The snow had preserved him perfectly. He lay there, his eyes still open, the bloody hole in his head where my claws smashed through covered by his hair. His skin was icy cold. I carried him out of the mountains and built his funeral pyre, tearing out the stitches the northern medics had put in my chest as I did it. I waited until the flames went out, until every last trace of Valentine was gone, and then I went back to the north and went on with my life.

Or tried to. I never quite managed it. I always had the feeling that not everything added up about the events leading to Valentine's execution. And now I've made the same mistake, knowingly this time, of loving someone whose death is imminent. I can't decide who to blame. Lief, Abbess, Valentine, myself. It's all of us, one way or another.

I let my hands cover my face and I sob, not caring that I'm probably on camera, not caring that this makes me look weak. And I'm still crying when I hear the sound of footsteps entering the clearing.

"Spirit?" Cato says. I look up. I haven't even gone for my weapons. If it had been anyone other than Cato, I'd be dead now. I'm starting to wonder if I might not be better off that way. Cato looks down at my tear-stained face and blanches. "What did he say to you?"

I wipe my eyes. "The truth, I guess."

"Lief's an idiot," Cato says. He puts a hand on my shoulder. "Whatever he thinks the truth is, he's probably wrong."

I shake my head. The anger I felt at Lief has drained completely out of me, leaving only a sick, hollow emptiness in its place. "He's right. Only one of us will be alive in a few days."

I look up at Cato. The wound on his chest has been clumsily bandaged, and his sword is hanging from his belt. "Why don't you just kill me now? It'll save all of us some trouble."

_No_, Valentine whispers. I ignore him. He's been wishing me dead for awhile now. It's too late for him to change his mind.

Cato draws his sword, and I let my eyes fall shut, waiting for the strike that will kill me. Instead, I hear the clang of the blade against the ground. My eyes open. The sword is lying on the ground, where Cato tossed it away. He shakes his head.

"I won't. If you die, it won't be because you gave up."

I underestimated him, it seems. He's a _much _better person than I am. Or maybe just wiser; even if that person is ready to die, he doesn't want the death of someone he cares about on his conscience.

Maybe I should have thought of that before I killed Valentine.


	20. Trapped

A/N: Thanks to bigtimecrazy123, Teleryn, Appaloosa13, Morpheus357, Peetasmybreadboy, and serenitylovegod for reviewing.

* * *

The next day dawns hot and humid, and the silence between Lief and I is almost as awful as the heat. He spends most of his time up in the trees, ostensibly scanning the forest for other tributes, but really, he's trying to stay as far away from me as possible. We've barely spoken, except when the watch changed and I took his place on lookout.

"Anything?" I asked.

"No." This word came out from between clenched teeth. Lief's fists were curled at his sides, and I'm sure he was ready to hit me. Then he hissed, "How do you think this ends, Spirit?"

"I don't know."

He shook his head. "You never do." And then he climbed back up into his tree to sleep. Lief should be happy; he's gotten exactly what he wanted. Our alliance is hanging by a thread. But the break isn't between us and Cato. It's between Lief and I.

Things haven't been easy with Cato, either. I don't think he knows what to make of me asking him to kill me - how could he? He doesn't know that I've already been down this path. In his own clumsy manner, he's tried to do nice things for me. Brought me water instead of waiting for me to go get it. Bandaged the still-bleeding cut on my ankle when I said - in what must have been my biggest lapse on the radiation sickness front to date - that I didn't care if I bled to death. Asked me if I'm okay.

He seems determined to ignore the fact that in a few days, only one of us will be alive. But I can't. And that's how we've gotten to where we are now; me sitting in the corner of the shelter, Lief up his tree, and Cato sitting outside the shelter, sharpening his sword.

I've been sporadically dizzy for the past few hours. I've even had a few blackouts, where my eyes shut and I open them to find that Cato has moved to the other side of the clearing, or that Lief's climbed higher into his tree, or that the sun is in a new position in the sky. Shutting my eyes helps with the dizziness, but it only confuses my sense of time further.

Valentine was in my dreams again last night, but things were different. He was still in the white forest, but rather than being alone like he usually is, he was walking between the trees, surrounded by a pack of wolves. He was also ignoring me. That pissed me off more than a little, so I chased after him, shouting his name. The wolves heard me and leaped, jaws open, claws extended, and Valentine swatted them away with a clawed hand.

_It's almost over_, he told me, and the last thing I remember of that dream was blood dripping off of Valentine's claws.

The sound of the cannon is what brings us all out of our separate hiding spots. Lief makes the fastest descent I've ever seen, jumping the last ten feet and landing with his knives out. Cato leaps to his feet, his sword already in his hand, and by the time we're all arrayed outside the shelter, the high whine of a hovercraft is already cutting through the air.

"That's coming from far away," Lief says, the first words he's spoken to me since we changed the watch last night. "Whoever killed that last one was pretty far away."

"It could have been an accident," I say hesitantly. "Who's left now?"

"Me. You. Him," Lief says. 'Him' refers to Cato, obviously. He's stopped referring to he and I as a team. We aren't even trying to hold up that illusion any longer. "And either both from Twelve, or one from Twelve and the girl from Five."

"I think it's Five who died," Cato says. "She wasn't a fighter. Twelve probably took her out."

"We'll know tonight, I guess," I say, and then I have to stop talking, because a powerful wave of darkness sweeps over me. I don't exactly sit down; my legs just fold out from underneath me. I'm not sure if the blackout is born of blood loss from the shallow cut on my leg or the radiation sickness, but does it really matter at this point? I've spent enough time around people dying of radiation sickness to know that continuous blackouts constitute the end stages of the illness. Unless I'm crowned victor in the next few days, I'll be dead.

That would solve all of my problems rather neatly, to be honest.

My hearing is the first thing to return to me. I hear a voice coming from somewhere above me. Lief's voice, to be more precise. "How long has she been out?"

Cato speaks. "Two hours now. Any longer and we're in trouble. Have you ever seen this happen to her before?"

Instead of answering, Lief says, "And she's been eating? And drinking?"

"Well, yeah, I think so. She had some water this morning, and I don't know about the food. I didn't know it was my job to keep an eye on her."

"Well, you kind of made it your job when you _kissed her_ -"

"Guys," I say, blinking a couple times and feeling my vision start to return. "I'm okay."

I'm far from okay, but I can't have them fighting each other. I try to sit up. My stomach clenches and I have to lie back down, trying not to vomit out everything I've eaten in the past few days.

"What happened?" Lief says.

"I don't know. I just…blacked out."

Bad choice of words. But Lief misses the allusion to radiation sickness and sits back on his heels, a worried look on his face. My little fainting episode seems to have made him forget that he's supposed to be angry with me. "Were you bitten by anything?"

"No. Look, Lief, I'm okay," I say, sitting up again. When he and Cato both pull identical skeptical faces, I repeat, "I'm okay. I just have to get some water."

Cato gets to his feet. "I'll get it."

"No, I will. I need -" I cut myself off. "I need to walk around a little."

"Somebody died today," Cato says mulishly. "I don't think it's safe."

"The only way someone else will die today is if you two kill each other while I'm gone. I'll be fine."

Cato helps me to my feet and I set off toward the stream, stopping every few feet to rest. If I crack my head on a rock, I'll only speed up my own death. It's not that I really need water. It's that I don't want Cato and Lief to see me die.

I remember how it feels to die, or at least be close to it. After Valentine slashed me, I was bleeding out in the snow of the mountains, and I remember the unbelievable _lightness _of it, like everything that held me to Earth was going away. It wasn't frightening. It was peaceful.

I think death is harder on the people staying behind than on the person dying.

I make it to the stream and kneel down at the water's edge, willing myself to keep my balance and not fall in. I scoop up a handful of water and splash it onto my face, swallowing the rest. I wonder what Valentine thinks of me kissing Cato, of my radiation sickness. I haven't heard from him in a while. Maybe he figures it's a done deal now.

_Hey, V, you've been awfully quiet_, I say.

_Spirit_, Valentine says, _look up_.

I slowly raise my eyes and find myself staring at the dark hulk of an enormous animal across the stream. It has ashy black fur and amber eyes, a snout like an ice wolf, but it's much larger. Ice wolves only come up to waist height, and this thing is shoulder high at least. It lets out a low snarl, baring enormous canine teeth and revealing its crushing jaws.

The instinct to morph out my claws for protection is almost too strong to fight, so strong that my fingernails actually begin to lengthen before I catch the change and force it back. Something tells me that this animal, whatever it is, will attack if I show any sign of aggression. I straighten up slowly, my hands open and dripping water, and begin to back up, away from the stream and back into the woods, my eyes never leaving the creature.

It doesn't move. It's only watching me, but just as I vanish into the trees, it takes a step forward, dipping one paw into the fast-moving waters of the stream. It jumps back, letting out a little whine, and then I understand; it's afraid of the water. If it weren't for the stream between us, it would have attacked me by now. But in any case, it's trapped on the other side of the water for the moment, and I take the opportunity to back further into the woods.

As soon as I'm sure I'm invisible to the creature, I run, bolting through the forest back to the campsite. I begin feeling light-headed almost immediately, but I keep running. I have to get back to the shelter to warn Lief and Cato.

When I reach our clearing, my legs give out and I pitch forward, rolling to the side to take the worst out of the fall and landing on my back. Cato reaches me first, tearing out of the shelter and kneeling by my side. "What happened?"

"There's something out there," I wheeze. My lungs are straining for air, pulling my shoulders up and arching my back, and I flip onto my stomach in an effort to make things easier on them. "An animal. I saw it."

"So there's an animal, big deal," Lief says. He's back to being angry at me. "In case you haven't noticed, Spirit, we're in the middle of the forest. There are -"

A low growl ripples out of the trees and all three of us jump. "How big of an animal are we talking about here, Spirit?" Lief asks in a carefully controlled voice.

"Huge," I say, and then I see yellow eyes glinting out of the dark gap between two trees. "There! Look!"

The monster leaps out of the woods at us, and only Cato's shockingly quick action prevents its claws from ripping into my flesh. He lunges to his feet and puts a shoulder squarely into the animal's chest, sending it flying backwards with a humanlike shriek of pain.

"Move!" Cato orders. Lief grabs my arms and pulls me to my feet, propelling me toward the tree. For one terrible second, I think I won't be able to climb it, and then instinct kicks in, my hands reaching, my feet scrambling. I don't stop until I'm twenty or thirty feet in the air, and then I chance a look downward.

It's a mistake.

Cato is climbing the tree as fast as he can go, the monster right on his heels. It leaps up - _too high to be an ordinary creature, must be a mutt _- but overshoots, its jaws clamping down on a branch a foot above Cato's head. Cato lets out a yell of horror as the mutt falls back to the ground and tries to keep climbing, but the branch the mutt broke was his next handhold, and now he's stuck, waiting for the next jump that will kill him.

The first weapon I can reach is one of my axes, shoved into my hand by Lief, who took the time to grab our weapons before climbing the tree. "Kill it," he tells me.

When they teach us marksmanship up north, they instruct us to visualize our target's death. I imagine the ax blade burying itself in the mutt's howling face, blood spurting, the creature dying on the ground. I make my throw just as the mutt jumps, and consequently, the throw goes wide, thudding into the creature's shoulder rather than its open mouth. Still, it's enough to interrupt the monster's flight, and it falls back to the ground, whimpering in pain.

Lief's fingers clamp down on my arm. "Spirit, look - the collar -"

The mutt is wearing a collar, made out of what look to be chains and gears. In the middle of the largest gear is the number 3, made out of nails. I stare hard at the mutt, and suddenly I piece together the ashen black hair and the amber eyes with the appearance of the boy from District Three. It's him. They turned him into a mutt.

The District Three mutt drags itself off to one corner of the clearing, whining like a dog in pain. It looks like I've lost at least one ax for good, and I couldn't even kill it. Or him. I'm not sure how much of District Three is left in there.

Lief crawls down to Cato's level and extends a hand, helping him climb past the broken branch. By the time he reaches my level, Cato is shaking. "What the hell was that thing?"

"It was a mutt. I think it was a wolf or something." I take a deep breath, then spill the worst part of it. "And I think they made it look like District Three. Its eyes and its fur…"

The District Three mutt has stopped whimpering. Instead it pushes itself up on its paws again, lifts its head, and starts letting off these piecing yips. Lief and I both clamp our hands over our ears, and Cato stares at us like we're insane. "What are you doing?"

"Don't you - OUCH - hear that?" Lief manages as the mutt yips again.

"No."

I get it. As shape-changers, Lief and I can hear pitches that are too high for normal humans. Cato may not be able to hear the mutt call, but we can.

Lief is the one who finally takes a guess at what the mutt is doing. "I think it's calling for its friends."

Night comes, a clear sky revealing the picture of the girl from District Five after the anthem plays.

"District Twelve is still alive," Cato says.

"Come on. You didn't seriously think they were going to die, did you?"

More mutts begin to gather in the clearing. They completely wreck our shelter, picking up the empty packs and chewing them to pieces. Lief managed to save both his and my packs, as well as the District Two pack for Cato. Clove's pack, unopened and left on the ground, is shredded.

"I wonder what was in there," I say quietly, trying to ignore the mutts prowling around the base of our tree.

"Probably what was in his," Lief says, indicating Cato. "Body armor."

Cato's opened his pack, and he's pulling out what looks to me like a flesh-colored leotard. I've seen that type of armor before on Peacekeeper commanders. It can withstand just about anything, meaning that, when the mutts finally get to him, he'll take a long, long time to die. When he starts stripping off his clothes to put on the armor, I look away. Lief snickers.

I keep expecting the mutts to get bored with hanging around the base of the tree and leave in search of better prey, but instead, they continue to mill around the clearing, trampling the remains of our shelter and occasionally letting off more of those high-pitched yips.

Lief tosses a pine cone down on them. "Shut the hell up, would you?"

"Yeah, that's a good idea," I comment. "They'll definitely pay attention to you now that you're throwing things at them."

"Spirit," Cato says.

"Yeah?"

"Can I come sit by you? Will the branch hold both of us?"

I nod, and scoot farther out so Cato can sit closest to the tree trunk. As the far heavier person, he needs to be sitting at the strongest part of the branch. He reaches out and takes my hand; though the body armor doesn't cover his hand, I can feel the coldness of it against my wrist.

"They're not leaving," he says after a minute.

"Why would they?" The mutts' plan is brilliant in its simplicity, so brilliant that only an animal could have thought of it. People think animals are stupid, but really, they're much more logical than humans. Or mutants. "They've got us stuck up here. We don't have food, and we don't have water, either. Sooner or later, we're going to have to come down."

He shudders. "What I said, after the coyotes…Do you think they heard that? Is that why they're doing this?"

"I don't know." I lean my head against his shoulder, my head spinning. "I don't know anything any more, okay?"

"You're sick, aren't you?" Cato says.

_Yes_. "No," I say aloud. "I'm just hungry. That's all."

"You've been eating the same food Lief and I have. There's something wrong. Is it the burn on your arm? Why didn't they send you medicine for the feast instead of the axes?"

How is it that Cato, who knows nothing about me other that I am an orphan from District Seven, has seen all this - and yet Lief, who's known me since we were both children, has missed every sign? Maybe Lief doesn't want to see that anything is wrong, and Cato is only praying for a way out that doesn't involve my death at his hands, but I don't think that's why. I don't know why.

He squeezes my hand. "It doesn't matter. Once you get back to the Capitol, they'll fix whatever it is for you."

I don't answer. Even through the body armor, I can feel the beat of his heart, or maybe the armor amplifies the sound. How much longer until he dies?

A mutt looks up at us from the ground and lifts its muzzle in a long, smooth howl. Cato shudders again, and I wonder if Katniss and Peeta, wherever they are, can hear it. It's their fates approaching, all our paths colliding tomorrow, because we will run out of water and food by tomorrow night and then we'll have to make a run for it. I discuss this with Lief and Cato as the night wears on, and they agree.

Lief is the one who suggests a decoy. "Maybe we can try to split them up. Have one person go one way and the other two run the other way. At least then we'd have a chance of getting out of here."

"I'll only do it if I'm the decoy," I say, and they both shout me down.

"I'll do it," Lief says.

"No! If I can't do it, there's no way I'm letting you -"

"Both of you shut up! I'll do it!" Cato yells finally. The mutts howl in response, and he jumps. "If one of you dies, neither of you are going home."

"Hey!"

"Oh, shove it," Cato says as Lief protests. "You know I'm right."

Lief and I glance at each other, and I entertain thoughts of shoving him off the branch and down to the mutts. "It doesn't matter," I say to Cato. "I'm not letting you go."

Lief makes an irritated noise, part sigh, part snort. "So nobody's going then. Fine. New plan."

Cato falls asleep with his head on my shoulder a few minutes later, and Lief hunches up on his branch, head in his hands. I assume he's either thinking or asleep too, lost in his own little world, and it scares me out of my wits when he speaks. "Why didn't you tell me, Spirit?"

"Dammit, Lief, don't do that to me," I say. A mutt looks up at me from the ground. It has amber eyes and red fur, and it bares its teeth in what almost seems like a smile. I snarl back, in a sort of there's-nothing-you-can-do-about-it taunt. Then I turn my attention back to Lief and say, "Tell you what?"

"You're sick. You've probably been sick for weeks. You have radiation sickness. Why didn't you say something?" He moves to the branch directly above me and stares down, trying to read my mind and figure out for himself. I block him, imagining a blank field of snow, and try to put all the chill of winter into my next words.

"You're not the only one who can keep secrets, Lief." And on that note, I look away and shut my eyes.

Sleep doesn't come. All I can see are Lief and Cato, their faces imprinted on my brain. Cato, betting on me to be the survivor; Lief's anger at my secrecy. Lief has a right to be angry, I'll admit - if I die, he'll have to die as well to ensure that Panem stays on the correct path. But after the secret he kept from me for a year, a secret that should have been my knowledge and no one else's, he deserves it.

Cato, though. Cato. He's always been the strongest competitor in the Games, and he's always known it. Not even Katniss's eleven in training shook his confidence. And he's suddenly willing to throw it all away, throw the rest of his life away, for a girl from District Seven? I have a hard time believing it. Love makes people do crazy things - look at Valentine. Hell, look at _me _- but I'm not sure I would call what's between Cato and I love. Stress, threat of death, chemical attraction, his similarity to Valentine on my side of things, my dubious natural charms on his. That's all it is.

_That's not how he sees it. Damn, Spirit, you're an idiot, _Lief says. _You're already too far gone. Quit trying to convince yourself otherwise_.

I can't answer him. If I do, he'll know he's right. I open my eyes and tilt my head up, looking at the stars through the canopy of branches and leaves. And I wonder if this will be the last night any of us will ever see.


	21. King and Lionheart

A/N: Thanks to bigtimecrazy, Appaloosa13, hungergames666, HermioneandMarcus, Imp, and CeliaSingsSongs for the reviews.

* * *

I wake up to unbearable chill, even though the sun is bright through the trees and the day is shaping up to be boiling hot. My hands are shaking and my fingernails are iridescent blue. I can't catch my breath. My heart hammers against my rib cage and every breath I take feels heavy in my lungs, like water. All I want is to shut my eyes and go back to sleep, and this time, not wake up. I know I'm dying. And it's scaring me.

"Spirit?" Cato says, his voice echoing through his armor. He's still holding me against his chest. "Spirit…"

Then, in an undertone, "District Seven, this is stupid as _hell_. We should just let her sleep."

"She has to know. And we have to get out of this tree. Wake her up."

"I'm awake," I say. I open my eyes, my lids heavy, and sit up. "What is it?"

It takes my eyes a minute to focus on the scene. Lief is perched on the branch above Cato and I. Cato is leaning back against the trunk of the tree. It's obvious that the two of them have been talking about something.

"I know how to get us out," Lief says. "But we have to wait until dusk, and we need your flares. At least a few of them."

I reach for my pack, wedged into the fork between two small branches, and lose my balance. Cato catches me and drags me back before I go straight down into the mutt pack. "Careful there."

I open the pack and pull out the bundle of flares. There are twelve flares left, and a couple used ones still in the mix. I toss those over the side. I pass the unused flares to Lief and watch as he turns them over in his hands, prying the cap off one of them and scrutinizing the contents. I'm starting to understand what his plan for them is.

"I'll fix these up into flash grenades," Lief says quietly to me. "We'll wait until dusk and then we'll throw a few into the pack. They'll be temporarily blinded, and that's when we run. We head for the Cornucopia and don't stop for anything."

He gives me a meaningful glance as he says this. I look away.

"It's not a bad plan, Lief," I say carefully. And it isn't. However, there's one glaring flaw in it; if anyone is going to fall behind, it'll be me. I can barely sit up without getting dizzy at this point. The likelihood of me surviving the run to the Cornucopia is small, but if I can make it up to the top of the golden horn, I'll survive as long as I don't fall off. Or do anything else stupid. "I'll do it, I guess."

"Good. Cato already agreed," Lief says. "Give me the rest of the flares. I'll get them ready."

"And then?"

"Just wait for dusk."

I do what Lief tells me, with one exception; rather than giving him all the flares, I keep three for myself, tucking them into my belt. The other nine go to him. Cato watches Lief fiddle with the flares for a minute, then looks back to me. "Think you can make it?"

"Yes. Maybe. I don't know." I drop my head into my hands. How can it be that I've survived mutt attacks and Peacekeeper squadrons, made it all the way through the Games, and yet it's the final sprint from here to the Cornucopia that may kill me at last?

"Remember what they taught us in disorientation training," Cato says. "Keep your breathing even. Focus on your target. Don't give up."

"I won't."

Cato doesn't let it drop. He's probably remembering how I asked him to kill me a few nights back. "Promise me."

"I promise." I lean forward so my head rests against his shoulder. I can't decide whether I want to sleep through these last few hours or stay awake. I'm not sure which will hurt less. It turns out I don't have to choose. My body makes the decision for me as my eyes start to fall shut. Quickly, while I'm still awake, I twist the sunstone ring off my right ring finger and press it into Cato's palm. "Take this."

"No, it's your token," he protests, trying to give it back. "It should -"

"If you're going to say it should go to my family, forget it," I say, trying to keep my eyes open a little longer. "My family's dead. If I die, I want you to have it."

Cato, to his credit, doesn't say anything stupid about how I'm not going to die; by this point, it's obvious that I might not make it. He just accepts the ring. His district token is a thin steel chain, almost like a collar, around his neck, and he slides the ring onto the chain like a pendant. "Happy now?"

"Yeah." I yawn.

"Just go to sleep, Spirit," Cato says, wrapping his arms around me again. "I'll wake you up when it's time."

I spend the next couple hours in the dreamless sleep of someone who's on the edge of this world and the next. I only wake up once, to hear Cato and Lief arguing about who should take the back position and throw the flares.

"I'll do it," Lief says. "Just make sure she keeps running. Deal?"

"Deal."

When I open my eyes again, the sun is descending fast. Lief and Cato are already up, weapons in hand, and climbing into the lower branches of the trees. The mutts look up at the sound of their descent, but they don't make a sound. They just watch.

"Come on, Spirit," Lief says. "Time to go."

I pull my pack onto my shoulders and draw my hammers, shoving my remaining ax into my belt with the flares. I'm more accustomed to the hammers, and one ax on its own is not much use. I wonder what happened to my other ax - and then I see it, still embedded in the shoulder of the District Three mutt. One less monster chasing after us. District Three looks to be on its last legs.

We have nine flares to get us from here to the plain. After that, it won't matter, because we'll be out in the open and it'll just be our speed against the mutts'. But within the forest, we need all the help we can get.

I pick my way down to the same level as Cato and Lief, reminding myself that the afterlife will be awfully embarrassing if I get to it by falling headfirst out of a tree. In my current state, I couldn't morph out wings in time to save myself.

Lief glances up at me, a flare in his hand, poised to throw. "Take as much time as you need. If you want to rest -"

I shake my head and get ready to jump. All the rest in the world won't help me now. "Just do it."

Lief lets out a wild war cry, gives the flare a vicious shake, and hurls it into the pack of mutts. The thing explodes on impact, showering the monsters in white-hot material, and they scatter, howling in pain. For the briefest second, a path is open from the base of our tree into the woods, and without giving myself time to consider whether it's a good idea or even to understand that this might be the last decision of my life, I make the leap and bolt through the opening.

Feet pounding against the ground. Humid air sliding in and out of my lungs with each gasping breath. Must not stop. Keep going. Don't look back. Howling from behind me, heavy breathing, terror driving through my veins. Don't look back.

Bright flashes from behind me, screeches of pain. Keep running. They cannot be stopped forever.

Blackness in my vision, creeping in from the sides, smothering me. Stop to rest by a tree and feel hands on my back, pushing me forward. "Don't stop. Don't stop. We're almost there."

Almost there. Keep moving. This is not how I will die. I have outpaced the ice wolves to the settlements a hundred times, a thousand times, and no muttation monsters will bring me down. Almost there. If I can make it to the Cornucopia, I will be safe.

There are two people milling aimlessly about on the plain. It takes the tributes from District Twelve a few seconds to realize what's happening, the horror that's bearing down on them, and by the time they understand, I've blown past them, staggering on shaking legs. I only have time for one word, hissed out from between clenched teeth. "Run."

I think they turn to look at me, but I'm already out on the plain, the words rolling like a drumbeat in my head. Don't look back. Don't look back.

The twang of a bowstring startles me and, on instinct, I hit the ground and roll, the arrow burying itself in the dirt beside me. Katniss gets another shot off, this time at Cato, just breaking from the tree line, but it deflects off his body armor and he keeps running. Lief evades the strike Peeta aims at him and gives the boy from District Twelve a hard shove toward the Cornucopia.

"Spirit, get up!" As he runs past me, Cato catches my arm and drags me to my feet, pulling me after him. "Run, dammit!"

I race ahead of him, pouring my last ounces of strength into these final few steps. I reach the Cornucopia first, just like I did the day the Games began, and begin to climb, pulling myself up to the flat portion at the top of the horn. I grab Cato's hand and help him up after me, then Lief after him. We made it. Still alive.

Lief swears. "Spirit, you're turning blue!"

"Not so bad," I manage, drawing in a gasping breath, blinking and trying to clear the spots from my vision. "It's okay."

For a second, I think my lungs have finally given out, but then I draw in another breath and things return to normal. Lief nods as the blue fades from my lips. "You might make it," he says.

"It's okay."

Cato pulls me close and roughly kisses my forehead. "It's okay," he repeats, and then he's gone, dodging out of sight.

A scream shatters the dusk, high and girlish, not belonging to Cato or Lief or Peeta, and I know no such sound has passed my lips. It's Katniss, trapped at the lower end of the golden horn, trying to hold back the mutts that are snapping at Peeta. One gets its teeth into his leg and he screams. Katniss digs in her heels, throws her weight back, but I can see in her eyes that she knows she can't hold on without being pulled over the side as well.

I draw my final ax, but I see four tributes and forty mutts, and I'm not sure which are real and which are mirages. I send out a silent prayer and throw, the death scream of the mutt letting me know that I've hit my target. It falls back, twitching as it dies, and Katniss drags Peeta to safety and stares up at me, something like hope in her face.

But I can see what she can't; that Cato's worked his way around behind them, and now he rips Peeta from Katniss's clutches and pulls him back toward the high end of the horn, using Lief and I as cover for his retreat. Lief motions for me to step back out of the line of fire as Katniss aims one of her few remaining arrows at Cato.

Cato just laughs. "Shoot and he goes down with me."

Katniss has eyes only for Cato and his captive. Lief and I may as well be invisible for all the attention she's paying to us. Lief is watching her, but my eyes are glued to Cato. I know that this is probably the last time I'll see him alive, and suddenly, that knowledge crushes me, a stranglehold worse than the omnipresent feeling of being unable to breathe.

The next few seconds come in little flashes. Peeta's finger drawing a bloody X on the back of Cato's hand. The bowstring releasing. Arrow flying. Cato falling from the Cornucopia, down into the seething pack of mutts.

Lief peers dispassionately over the edge. "Well. That's him gone."

I know it won't be so easy. Cato's wearing body armor; the mutts will have to strip that off to get at him, and then they'll drag it out to the point where I'd kill him myself to put him out of his misery. I can't do it. I can't watch him die. And I can't save him, either. I love him, and yet again, I love someone I cannot save.

_Yes, you can_, Valentine whispers, his voice so faint that it could be a hallucination brought on by lack of oxygen for all I know. _You can save him, Spirit. You can save him_.

I remember the dream I had of Valentine a few nights ago, in the white forest with the pack of wolves. He saved me. He fought them off, defended me with outstretched claws…

And suddenly, I know what I have to do.

"Spirit," Lief says to me, as an all-too-human cry of pain rises from the ground. "It's over."

"No," I say, taking one step and another toward the edge of the Cornucopia. I can see Cato struggling to rise to his feet, one shoulder bloodied already. I sling my backpack off my shoulders. "It's not."

Lief realizes what I'm going to do only after I make the jump. "No!" he screams, and his voice follows me down.

I land on my feet and light up a flare. First rule of mutt fighting; make yourself known. "Hey!" I scream, my voice rising over the howls of the mutts. "Over here! I'm who you want!"

The mutts wheel, torn between the motionless prey on the ground and the new interloper, yelling and waving her arms. Every mutt I've ever encountered has had a chase reflex, activated by motion, and in the end, even these mutts can't ignore their programming. They leave Cato where he lies and charge on me.

I hurl the lit flare into the middle of the pack and dart sideways, cutting around the mutts to Cato. He's sprawled out on his back, left shoulder bloody and stripped of armor, right leg twisted strangely. He gets to his knees as I approach, opens his mouth to say something, but I shake my head and push an unlit flare into his hand. He lights it up. He knows what to do.

I cast my final flare into the pack, startling them, separating them, forcing them to form a half-circle around the side of the Cornucopia. Half walking, half dragging, I pull Cato through the breach and lean him up against the horn. Then I whirl to face the mutts, already regrouping for another attack.

My hammers won't be enough to repel the mutts, and with my size and condition, even body armor like the kind Cato has wouldn't save me. I need something else, something fearsome, something that will activate the same primal fear in the mutts as they cause in humans. There's only one way to do that.

The flares amongst the pack are beginning to sputter and die. I know I only have a few seconds, and so I turn to face Cato, kneeling down so we're eye to eye. I don't have the words for this moment. Instead of trying to speak, I lift my left hand and touch his cheek, leaning in to kiss him. And as I do, I morph out my right hand, sprouting long claws and shining scales, letting all of Panem see what I really am.

"Spirit, behind you!" Lief screams, and I whip around, taking out the throat of a leaping mutt with my claws.

Katniss screams as the mutt's body thuds to the ground at my feet. My right hand is soaked in hot blood, dripping off the ends of my claws and staining the earth red.

"Here," Lief says, and one of his knives hits the ground next to me. "You'll need that."

I pick it up in my left hand. After all this, his lies and my betrayal, Lief and I are still bound together. We're coming out of the arena together - or not at all. "Thanks," I whisper.

Two mutts lunge at me. I impale one on the knife and lash out at the other with my claws, driving it back again. Even as I fight for my life, I'm sort of expecting a lightning bolt to come zinging out of the sky and strike me dead for having the audacity to flaunt my mutant skill. But nothing comes, and after I repel a few more charges, I understand why. A pair of star-crossed lovers with a chance to win. Another pair doomed to separation. And in the midst of all that, a mutant girl battling a pack of muttation tributes. These are the most exciting endgames Panem has ever seen. No Gamemaker in their right mind would cut them short.

Night falls, with no moon and only a few faint stars to light the sky. The flares are all out, and the mutts are reduced to dark shapes with glowing eyes, prowling around me. I've lost count of how many are dead. I know Katniss killed at least two, and I did the same with my axes, but killing with my claws is imprecise, and I'm never sure whether I've killed or only wounded.

"Spirit," Lief calls down from the Cornucopia as I'm resting between attacks. "You've done enough. Get back -"

His words are cut off, and he makes a horrible gagging sound. Then there's a loud thump, like someone throwing a body, and a terrified squeak. Lief clears his throat and continues, "Get back up here."

I shake my head. I can feel Lief scrabbling against my thoughts, searching for a way to gain control and bend me to his will, but I force him back.

His voice gets angrier. "You've made your point, okay? Come up here before they kill you!"

A mutt ventures a little too close and I lash out with my clawed hand, spattering its face with its comrades' blood and warning it to stay back. As I make my move, another mutt lunges from the opposite side, trying to cut around behind me and reach Cato. I put the knife straight into its brain, and as it falls back, I see that it's the mutt resembling the girl from District Four, one of my kills during the initial bloodbath, weeks ago. _Sorry_.

From the top of the Cornucopia, there's another thud, another cry. Then Lief says harshly, "You try that one more time, Lover Boy, and I'll put your girlfriend over the side myself."

So Lief's under attack, then, from Katniss and Peeta. But Peeta's injured, and by the sound of it, Lief's got the situation under control. I turn my attention back to the mutts, only to find that they've vanished into the darkness. My pupils dilate, trying to wring more light out of the sky, but even this action can't reveal the mutts. Have they gone? Is it over at last?

Then all the remaining mutts leap out of the darkness at once.

I'm completely overwhelmed. A large mutt that could only be Marvel gets its teeth into my shoulder and throws me onto my back. I twist free on my way down and curl in, protecting my back and stomach, morphing out my other hand and both feet, kicking and clawing at everything in reach. But the mutts are everywhere. By the time I struggle up, four mutts lie dead around me - one, bizarrely, with an arrow in its head.

My left arm hangs useless, my shoulder bleeding thick and fast. There are five mutts left. I don't have much time before the blood loss renders me useless. But maybe I have time to kill these five. Five more. That's all. After that, my fate is in someone else's hands.

For the first time since the mutts appeared, I go on the offensive. Claws outstretched, teeth bared in a snarl, I hurl myself at them, killing one before the rest know what's going on. And then I'm lost in a twist of fur and claws and muscle. Teeth sink into my hip and I hear rather than feel the crunch as the bone gives way. It doesn't hurt; I'm beyond that now.

I take out another mutt, ripping open its stomach and shoving the corpse back toward the last two. The Marvel mutt is still alive, and the sleek brown monster prowling beside it can only be Clove. The Careers. Always stronger and better than the rest of us, and now they have me cornered. I'm on my back, immobile and helpless. It's only a matter of time before the blood loss makes me unable to sustain the morph, and then I'll lose my claws and be at their mercy.

The mutts stalk toward me, taking their time. I try to sit up, lashing out with my claws, but the Clove mutt plants a paw on my chest and pins me down on the earth. I can feel its hot breath on my face, rank with blood and whatever else they've been feeding this monster. I stare back into its brown eyes. "Go ahead," I say quietly. "I'm done."

The mutt's jaws open, and at the same time, the death screech of the Marvel mutt shatters the air. Startled, the Clove mutt rears back from me, paws flailing, and as it does, a knife flies through the air and pierces its chest. The heavy body of the mutt crashes down on top of me and everything goes dark.

"Be careful with her. She's in pain."

"She's probably dead already -"

"Would you shut your stupid mouth, District Twelve? We haven't heard a cannon and that means she's still alive."

I recognize the last voice as Cato's. And the first speaker was Lief. They must have pulled the mutt corpse off of me. I wish they hadn't. Suffocation isn't a bad way to go, and I was unconscious, so at least I wouldn't have known what was happening. Now I'm going to have to die for everyone to see.

I open my eyes. The night sky suddenly seems a lot closer, and when I tilt my head to one side, I see the golden Cornucopia beneath me. This isn't a bad place to die. I guess Johanna will be sending me home in a box after all.

"Spirit, listen to me," Lief says, his voice urgent, demanding my attention. He shouldn't be yelling at me; I'm dying. He should just shut up and let me get to it. "Hang on. There's a way out of this."

I shake my head weakly. "This is the right path," I tell him. "This is how it's meant to be."

"No. No! You're making it through this. I'm not going to let you die." This time it's Cato speaking, and it's harder for me to shut him out.

The sky seems to be brightening, and I can see the outlines of the snow-covered trees of the white forest. An indistinct figure stands among them. _Valentine, wait_ -

_Don't let go_. His voice seems louder all of a sudden, and I see Lief's head snap up, like he's hearing it, too. _Don't let go_.

I blink, long and slow, and I hear Katniss speaking. But her voice sounds different. The tone and pitch are the same, but the inflections aren't hers at all; they're Lief's. Why is she talking in Lief's voice?

"They have to have a victor," she says slowly, and I hear her rummaging around for something. "We all know they have to have a victor."

"Spirit," Lief says, "hold out your hand."

I lift my hand, palm up, and someone drops a few berries into it. I understand what Lief means to do, and I also know that he can't do it without bringing Cato into the mix as well. Without all of our participation, his last-ditch attempt to salvage our plan and keep Panem on the path to rebellion will fail. It might fail anyway. Five victors might be too much for this future to hold. Of course, it might not be five.

_Aren't you lucky, Spirit? _Lief says as he counts berries out into his own palm. _You get exactly what you wanted_.

_Don't bet on it_, I manage. The blackness is sweeping across my vision, deeper and heavier than before.

"Cato," I say. "Do you have the berries?"

"I've got them." His hand clamps around my free one, and I register that my hand has gone back to normal. I lost my morph after all.

"On three," Katniss says, her voice still strange. "One -"

"It's okay," I say to Cato. "Trust me."

"Two -"

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Three!"

I bring my hand to my mouth and dump in the berries. My muscle control is so bad at this point that only one of the berries makes it in, but that's all right. One will be enough. One is all it takes.

"STOP!"

Then comes the frantic blaring of trumpets and a panicked voice babbling in a Capitol accent. "Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games; Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark -"

Someone pulls the berry out of my mouth, but I can't see who it is. The blackness has taken over completely, and it's like I'm floating in this empty dark void, still part of the world but at the same time completely detached from it.

"- Cato Lewis, Lief Holbrook, and Spirit Emerson!"

The last things I hear before sound goes, too, are my name and the high whine of an approaching hovercraft.


	22. In the White Forest

A/N: Thanks to Teleryn, bigtimecrazy, Appaloosa13, and HermioneandMarcus for reviewing. Please read the Author's Note at the bottom of this chapter (once you finish the chapter, of course) for important information.

* * *

The white forest is like I expected it would be. Cold. Quiet. Peaceful. But the lines of the alabaster trees are indistinct and they seem to move, changing into white-coated figures that bustle around me. A faint rhythm, like far-off thunder, rumbles in the air, and I can see it shaking the trees. I'd be able to feel it shaking the ground if I were able to touch the ground. But I can't. My feet skim a few inches above the snow, and it's an irritation, really, because even in the land of the dead, I still don't belong.

"They want you back."

Valentine stands a few feet away, his back against one of the trees. Other people stand beside him, and they look familiar to me, but at this point, I can't place their features.

"I can't go back, V, you know that," I tell him. "This is it. I'm gone."

"Actually, you're not," Valentine says. "Your heart's still beating. Your body's waiting for you…if you still want it."

He walks to me and takes my hand. His fingers still feel cold against mine, more proof that I'm not yet like him. The scene around me clarifies, and I see my body lying on a metal table in a white room while Capitol doctors work to revive it. There's already an IV line in my arm, dripping blood into my spent form.

I squint at the doctors. "What are they doing?"

Valentine shrugs. "You're the medic. You tell me. Anyway, they want you back, Spirit. They haven't lost a victor yet and they'd rather you weren't the first."

"They know I'm a mutant."

"Yeah. But you're also a victor. And you just gave them the most exciting Hunger Games they've ever seen. They won't kill you," Valentine says. He flashes a crooked smile. "Nice job with the claws, by the way. I was hoping you'd take my advice."

This is too much for me to wrap my head around. Valentine was trying to help me? "V, you wanted me dead. You spent the whole Games telling me that."

Valentine lets go of my hand and I lose my clear view of the scene in the operating room. The doctors go back to being trees and we're alone again. "The afterlife isn't what I was expecting it to be."

"This isn't the afterlife," Valentine says. He laughs. "This is more of a holding place. If you're here, it means that you're waiting for someone - or that you have something else left to do."

As he says this, Valentine's form begins to fray at the edges, like a piece of fabric with an essential thread come loose. "My work here is done. I got what I wanted."

"V, wait!" I grab for him, but my hand passes right through his. And then I know that he's on his way, and the only thing I can do is try and wring one last answer out of him. "What did you want?"

Valentine smiles. "I wanted you to be cured." He gestures at the doctors, trees, whatever they are milling around me, and cups his ear with his hand, listening to the steady rhythm of my heartbeat. "And now you are."

He's leaving. Valentine is leaving me again, and this time, I know he won't be coming back to walk in my dreams or act as my guardian angel. He'll be gone for good.

"V, I'm sorry," I say. "If I'd known -"

"I forgive you," Valentine says, and the white forest begins to disintegrate around me, leaving only blackness in its place. "Go back, Spirit. He's waiting for you."

He reaches out his hands, and the people standing on either side of him grasp them. As they touch him, their faces briefly gain sharper features, and I realize that with him he has Clove and the girl from District Eleven. Behind him, forming a chain of linked hands, are the other tributes from the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games. They're all moving on.

The white forest vanishes completely.

"Bye, V," I whisper, and someone yells, "She's awake!"

I drift in and out for the next few days, and when I do wake up, I'm never alone. There are always white-suited doctors surrounding me, masks covering their faces. I ask them questions - or I try to, until they finally remove the feeding tube - but it's always the nurses who answer.

"Yes, they're alive," a nurse with bright emerald eyes says in response to a garbled question about my fellow victors. "They'll be all right, dear."

"You'll be all right, too," another nurse adds. "You had the most unusual sickness, darling, but we've fixed that right up. You're going to live a long time now."

Once they remove the feeding tube, the nurses take on the arduous task of spooning food into my mouth. I can't do it because my arms are so covered in IV lines that to move would be to rip a couple out. My portions are tiny, more like a snack than an actual meal, but every time I open my mouth to complain, the nurses stuff another spoonful of mashed potatoes down my throat. And after I'm done eating, they always put me out again. It takes me a few times through this routine before I figure out why. I'm a mutant, with skills they can't control and don't understand. Of course they put me out. In fact, I'm surprised I'm not chained to the bed.

When I wake up alone, after five times through the eat-drink-get-knocked-out cycle, I'm thrilled. The room is completely empty, and I'm down to only one IV line in my arm. Attached to the pole is a bag of blood, dripping slowly into my veins. They've been giving me a lot of transfusions. I guess this is just the latest.

Being careful not to dislodge my IV, I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. And then a voice emanating from a dark corner of the room just about makes me jump out of my skin.

"Hello, Miss Emerson," President Snow says. I can recognize him by that smooth voice alone; I've heard it so many times on the hacked Capitol channel that's all we get up north. "Having a pleasant sleep?"

"Pleasant enough." Until you got here.

I'm expecting him to have a weapon, expecting him to shoot me dead right here. Instead he pulls a chair out of his darkened corner and sits down, watching me through slitted eyes. "I'm actually quite impressed with you, Miss Emerson. You were so skillful in your infiltration that even I was fooled."

He smiles coldly, nodding his head. "Oh, yes. The choice of District Seven was particularly inspired. You chose a border district with a large population of orphans and a bland accent. Very wise."

I cross my arms. "It's easy to hide when no one's looking."

He looks up, surprised. "You admit it?"

"Of course." There's no point in hiding any longer; I might as well have hollered "Down with the Capitol" when I morphed out my claws in the arena. He knows I'm a northerner. But there's no way he can know the extent of our plan unless I tell him. I'm going to have to be very careful.

"It was surprising, though, the way you chose to reveal yourself," President Snow continues. "Your poor district partner was scared out of his wits. I take it he wasn't aware of your…ah…little secret."

"No," I say. Lief must have gotten it together and acted shocked when I morphed out my claws. At least this hasn't been completely blown. Lief is still under cover. "Only me."

President Snow shakes his head in wonderment. "Then your infiltration of Panem was positively suicidal. What did you believe you could accomplish here?"

Nothing less than the total destruction of Panem, and even if he kills me right here, there's nothing he can do now to stop it. "Are you going to kill me?"

He laughs. "What do you think?"

If he was going to have me killed, there are easier ways to do it. He could have just instructed the doctors to let me die and then said that my injuries were too severe. If he was planning to kill me, he missed his best chance. "I'm thinking… no."

"You effectively tied our hands," President Snow says. "The people of your adopted district love their mutant victor, and you've developed quite a following in the Capitol as well. If I had killed you, I would have alienated both groups. So I came up with an alternate solution."

I may not be dead, but I'm not out of the woods yet. "What are you going to do with me?"

"Miss Emerson, it's already been done." President Snow leans forward in his chair. "Unfortunately, we were unable to completely cure your bizarre condition. Your blood aggressively converts any healthy blood we introduce into your body, transmitting the disease to every cell. In order to maintain a healthy state, you will require blood transfusions every two weeks. Any longer and your body will begin to shut down as it was doing so quickly in the arena."

My mind reaches the conclusion of this just as he says it. "And only the Capitol can supply you with your transfusions."

He's made me dependent on the Capitol for my survival, and yet he thinks that action will somehow prevent me from bringing them down? I was willing to sacrifice my life to save my people, and the end of the Games has not changed that.

And besides, my people aren't nearly as backward as President Snow believes them to be. We know how to give transfusions.

"Also," President Snow says, "I would advise you against demonstrating your shape-shifting skill on live television again. You may not have a family…but Cato does. And I'm sure you don't wish to cause him pain."

Now he's threatening to hurt Cato's family, people I've never even met. For all his dismissal of the futility of my mission, I've got him rattled. He's not happy that a northerner's made it all the way into the Capitol, and because he can't kill me, he's going to try and keep me trapped in any way he can.

"I understand," I tell him. "I'll toe the line, I promise. Just don't hurt anyone. Please."

"If you keep your promise, I won't have to." President Snow stands up. He's a small man, but with me seated on the hospital bed, he towers over me. "Your plan was brilliant executed but foolish, Miss Emerson. One lone mutant could never bring down the Capitol."

Contrary to what you might believe, I don't hate President Snow. He may be the public symbol of my people's heartache, but the ones I truly despise are the citizens of the Capitol, who paint their faces and cut patterns in their skin and tattoo themselves into grotesqueness - and then have the audacity to hate people like me for being born different. I'd kill every last Capitol citizen if I could. Snow isn't my enemy; he's an obstacle.

Still, his comment, and worse, his overconfidence, irk me just enough to provoke a response. A sort of parting shot as the door swings closed behind him. "Don't worry, President Snow. I won't be the one who brings you down."

* * *

A/N: This is the last chapter of Outlanders. The story will continue in The Rising, the first chapter of which will be posted sometime in the next two weeks. In that story, you'll get to see some of Cato's perspective as well as Spirit's. I'm aiming to begin posting The Rising next Saturday, but if you want to know for sure when it comes up, add me to author alert.

Thank you to everyone who added this story to alerts or favorites, and an especially big thank-you to everyone who reviewed! Your support and feedback meant a lot to me, and I hope you will follow the story as it continues into the next installment.

Shade


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